ma 


m 


Samuel 

Hopkins 

Adams 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

SAMUEL  HOPKINS  ADAMS 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
FREDERIC  DORR  STEELE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY  P.  F.  COLLIER  &  SON,  INCORPORATED 
COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY  SAMUEL  HOPKINS  ADAMS 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I'VE  DECIDED  THAT  YOU 'RE  NOT  MY  HUSBAND  " 

Frontispiece 

WAS  ANYTHING  WORTH  ANYTHING,  ANYWAY?  4 

"IF  YOU  KNEW  HOW  I  LONG  TO  BE  PRETTY!"  IO 

"THERE  ARE  TWO  OF  us  TO  THE  DIVIDED  TITLE"      216 

"I'VE     BEEN     LOST,"    SHE     SAID,     AND    WALKED 

STRAIGHT  TO  HIS  ARMS  228 

Drawn  by  Frederic  Dorr  Steele 


2134107 


WANTED  :  A  HUSBAND 

•     • 

• 

Chapter  I 

OUT  OF  ORDER!  pertly  announced  the 
placard  on  the  elevator.  To  Miss  Darcy 
Cole,  wavering  on  damp,  ill-conditioned,  and 
reluctant  legs,  this  seemed  the  final  malignancy 
of  the  mean-spirited  fates.  Four  beetling  flights 
to  climb!  Was  it  worth  the  effort?  Was  any- 
thing worth  the  effort  of  that  heart-breaking 
ascent?  For  that  matter,  was  anything  worth 
anything,  anyway?  Into  such  depths  of  despond 
had  the  spirit  of  Miss  Cole  lapsed. 

At  the  top  of  the  frowning  heights  the  studio 
apartment  of  Miss  Gloria  Greene  would  open  to 
her.  There  would  be  tea,  fresh-brewed  and  in- 
vigorating. There  would  be  a  broad  and  restful 
couch  full  of  fluffy  pillows,  comforting  to  tired 
limbs.  There  would  be  Gloria  Greene  herself, 
big  and  beautiful  and  radiant,  representing 
everything  which  poor  little  Darcy  Cole  was 
not  but  most  wished  to  be,  and,  furthermore,  a 
sure  source  of  wise  counsel,  or,  at  worst,  of 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

kindly  solace  for  a  case  which  might  be  too  hope- 
less for  counsel.  As  alternative,  a  return  to  the 
wind-swept,  rain-chilled  New  York  side  street. 
No;  the  thing  had  to  be  done!  Darcy  nerved 
her  soggy  muscles  to  the  ordeal. 

On  the  second  landing  she  paused  to  divide  a 
few  moments  between  hard  breathing  and  hat- 
ing the  imitation-leather  roll  beneath  her  arm. 
Including  the  wall-paper  design  within,  just 
rejected  by  B.  Riegel  &  Sons,  the  whole  affair 
might  have  weighed  two  pounds.  To  its  ill- 
conditioned  bearer  it  felt  like  two  hundred.  She 
set  a  hand  to  her  panting  chest  and  a  thorn 
promptly  impaled  her  thumb.  Tearing  off  the 
offending  rose  Darcy  flung  it  over  the  banister 
rail.  It  was  a  flabby,  second-hand  wraith  of  a 
rose,  anyhow,  having  been  passed  down  to  the 
wearer  by  her  flat-mate,  Maud  Raines,  who 
in  turn  had  it,  along  with  eleven  others,  from 
her  fiance. 

Darcy  stuck  out  a  vindictive  tongue  at  the 
discarded  flower.  Nobody  ever  sent  her  roses! 
Dully  musing  upon  the  injustices  of  existence, 
she  clambered  up  the  third  flight  and  leaned 
against  the  wall  to  rally  her  spent  energies,  with 
her  hands  thrust  deep  into  the  sagging  pockets 

2 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

of  her  coat.  Something  light  and  scratchy 
rubbed  against  her  bare  forefinger,  which  was 
protruding  from  a  hole  in  her  glove.  Being 
exhumed,  it  revealed  itself  as  one  of  those 
tiny  paper  frills  wherein  high-priced  candy  is 
chastely  attired.  The  departed  bonbon  had 
come  from  a  box  sent  by  Paul  Wood,  the  archi- 
tect, to  Darcy's  other  flat-mate,  Helen  Barrett, 
to  whom  he  had  just  become  engaged.  Darcy 
let  the  inoffensive  ornament  flutter  from  her 
fingers  to  the  floor  and  crushed  it  flat  with  a 
vengeful  foot.  Nobody  ever  sent  her  candy  in 
frilly  collars!  Nobody  ever  sent  her  anything! 
Oozing  wretchedness  and  self-pity,  she  took  the 
final  flight  in  a  rush,  burst  in  upon  the  labors  of 
Miss  Gloria  Greene,  planted  herself  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  dropped  her  work  roll  and 
kicked  it  as  far  as  she  could,  and  lifted  up  the 
voice  of  lamentation  in  the  accepted  phrase, 
duly  made  and  provided  for  such  of  feminine 
sex  and  tender  years  as  find  the  weary  pattern 
of  the  world  too  tangled  for  their  solving. 

"Oh,  I  wuh  —  wuh  —  wish  I  were  duh — 
duh  —  dead!"  mourned  Miss  Cole  with  vio- 
lence. 

Gloria   Greene   dropped   the   typed    sheets 

3 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

which  she  had  been  studying  and  rose  from  her 
chair.  She  looked  down  at  the  lumpy,  lax 
figure  of  helpless,  petulant  rebellion  before 
her. 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  she  remarked  pen- 
sively. 

"Yes;  I  do!" 

"So  do  most  people  at  one  time  or  another," 
was  Miss  Greene's  philosophical  commentary 
upon  this. 

"Not  you,"  declared  Darcy,  glancing  up  at 
the  vivid  face  above  her  resentfully.  "I'll  bet 
you  Ve  never  known  what  it  is  to  feel  that  way 
in  your  life." 

"Oh,  I'm  too  busy  for  such  nonsense,"  re- 
turned Gloria  in  her  serene  and  caressing  voice. 

Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  for  any  one 
favored  with  Miss  Gloria  Greene's  acquaint- 
ance to  imagine  her  wishing  to  depart  a  life  to 
the  enjoyment  of  which  she  has  vastly  added 
for  thousands  of  people.  For  under  a  slightly 
different  name  Miss  Greene  is  known  to  and 
admired  by  most  of  the  theater-going  popu- 
lace of  the  United  States.  From  the  top  of  her 
ruddy,  imperiously  poised  head  to  the  tip  of 
her  perfectly  shod  toes,  she  justifies  and  fulfills 


WAS  ANYTHING  WORTH  ANYTHING,  ANYWAY? 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

in  every  line  and  motion  the  happy  thought 
which  inspired  the  dean  of  American  play- 
wrights to  nickname  her  "Gloria."  Deeper  than 
her  beauty  and  abounding  vitality  there  lies  a 
more  profound  quality,  the  rare  gift  of  giving 
graciously  and  naturally.  It  is  Gloria  Greene's 
unconscious  and  intuitive  mission  in  life  to  lend 
color  and  light  and  cheer  to  colorless,  dim,  and 
forlorn  folk  wherever  she  encounters  them. 
That  is  why  Darcy  Cole  was,  at  the  moment, 
dribbling  tears  and  aspirations  for  an  immedi- 
ate demise  all  over  Gloria's  rare  Anatolian  rug. 
Not  that  Darcy  really  desired  to  die.  She  merely 
wished  Gloria  Greene  to  make  life  more  practi- 
cable for  her. 

"That's  imagination,  you  know,"  continued 
the  actress. 

"It  is  n't,"  snivelled  Darcy. 

"Then  it's  indigestion.  Have  a  pill." 

"I  won't!"  declined  the  girl  rudely.  "You're 
making  fun  of  me.  They  all  make  fun  of  me. 
I  do  wish  I  was  dead!" 

"Do  you,  indeed!" 

Setting  two  slim  but  powerful  hands  upon 
the  girl's  shoulders,  Gloria  Greene  proceeded 
methodically  to  shake  her.  She  shook  her  until 

5 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

her  hat  (oh,  but  it  was  a  bad  and  shabby  hat!) 
came  off  and  rolled  upon  the  floor.  She  shook 
her  until  her  hairpins  fell  like  hail  and  her 
brown-black  hair  struggled  out  of  its  arrange- 
ment (oh,  but  it  was  a  poor  and  tasteless  ar- 
rangement!) and  tumbled  about  her  face  (and, 
oh,  but  it  was  a  sallow  and  torpid  face!).  She 
further  shook  her  until  her  eyes  bulged  out  and 
a  faint  flame  shone  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  but- 
tons began  to  pop,  and  her  breath  rattled  on 
her  teeth,  and  she  could  barely  gasp  out: 

"St-t-t-top!  You're  shaking  me  to 
p-p-pieces ! " 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Miss  Greene  blandly, 
and  shook  harder  than  before. 

"D-d-d-dud-dud-^cwV  wailed  the  victim. 
"W-w-wait  a  m-m-m-minute ! " 

The  shaker  desisted,  still  maintaining  her 
grip.  "What's  the  matter?"  she  inquired. 

"You 're  killing  me!" 

"Then  you  don't  want  to  die,  after  all?"  in- 
quired the  other. 

"Not  that  way!"  gasped  the  girl. 

"It's  my  regular  treatment  for  dead-wish- 
ers." 

"It's  brutal,"  whimpered  Darcy.  "Every- 
6 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

thing's  brutal.  The  world's  brutal.  I  hate  it! 
I  wish  I  —  Glo-o-o-oria !  Don't  begin  again!" 

"What  do  you  wish?"  demanded  the  admin- 
istrator of  discipline  implacably. 

"I  wish  I'd  never  come  here  at  all." 

"That's  different,"  commented  Miss  Greene, 
"though  it  probably  is  n't  true,  either.  Now  sit 
down.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  I  Ve  got  a  few  min- 
utes to  spare." 

"It's  very  long,"  began  Darcy  dolefully. 

"You're  trying  to  dodge.  Begin  at  once.  Or 
must  I  apply  my  treatment  again?" 

"Ow!  No!  Don't!"  implored  the  girl.  "I'll 
tell.  But  I  don't  know  where  to  begin." 

"Begin  in  the  middle,"  suggested  Gloria 
helpfully.  "Then  you  can  work  both  ways." 

"I  will.  Well,  then,  you  see,  Maud's  gone 
and  got  engaged." 

"To  whom?" 

"Holcomb  Lee,  the  illustrator." 

"Why  should  that  make  you  want  to  die? 
Are  you  in  love  with  Mr.  Lee?" 

"I  in  love  with  Holcomb!"  Darcy's  bitter 
grin  dismissed  that  supposition.  "I'm  not  in 
love  with  anybody.  It  is  n't  that." 

"Then  what  is  it?"  asked  the  patient  Gloria. 

7 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"It's  the  whole  thing.  Helen  Barrett  is  going 
to  marry  Paul  Wood." 

"If  any  woman  know  any  just  reason  why 
these  twain  should  not  be  joined  together  in 
holy  matrimony,  let  her  now  speak  or  forever 
after  hold  her  peace,"  solemnly  misquoted 
Gloria. 

"But  —  but  —  but  Maud  and  Helen  and  I," 
pursued  the  girl,  evincing  symptoms  of  a  melan- 
cholic relapse,  "were  going  to  be  the  Three 
Honest  Working-Girls  and  keep  up  our  Fifty- 
Sixth  Street  bachelor-girl  hall  for  life.  And  now 
look  at  the  darn  thing!" 

"What  did  you  expect?"  argued  Gloria. 
"Maud  is  pretty  and  energetic,  and  Helen  is 
one  of  those  soft,  fluffy  creatures  that  some 
man  always  wants  to  take  care  of.  Bachelor- 
girl  agreements  are  only  made  to  keep  until 
the  right  man  comes  along,  anyway." 

"But  where  do  I  come  in?"  demanded 
Darcy,  opening  wide  her  discontented-looking 
eyes. 

"Oh,  you'll  be  getting  engaged  yourself  one 
of  these  days." 

For  once  in  her  tactful  life  Gloria  Greene  had 
made  a  stupid  remark. 

8 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Don't  you  patronize  me!"  flashed  the  girl. 
"I  just  won't  stand  it!  I  get  enough  of  that 
at  home  from  those  two  d d  fiancees." 

Gloria  turned  a  face  of  twinkling  astonish- 
ment upon  her  visitor.  "Why,  Amanda  Darcy 
Cole!  What  would  the  generations  of  your  Puri- 
tan forbears  — •" 

"Don't  you  call  me  Amanda,  either!  It's  an 
old-maid  name.  I  hate  it — even  if  it  does  fit." 

"It  is  rather  a  handicap,"  admitted  her  host- 
ess. "But  Darcy 's  pretty  enough,  anyway." 

"It's  the  only  pretty  thing  about  me.  Oh, 
Gloria,"  burst  out  the  girl  in  a  sudden  flood- 
tide  of  self-revelation,  "  if  you  knew  how  I  long 
to  be  pretty!  Not  beautiful,  like  you;  I  would 
n't  ask  as  much  as  that.  But  just  pretty  enough 
to  be  noticed  once  in  a  while." 

"Why,  Darcy,  dear— " 

"No:  let  me  talk!"  Darcy  proceeded  in  little, 
jerky  gasps  of  eagerness.  "Pretty.  And  well- 
dressed.  And  up-to-date.  And  smart.  And 
everything !  I  'd  sell  my  soul  to  the  devil  if  he  'd 
buy  such  a  weakly,  puny,  piffling  little  soul, 
just  really  to  live  and  be  something  besides  a 
'thoroughly  nice  girl'  for  one  short  year. 
'A  thoroughly  nice  girl'!  Yah!"  said  Miss  Cole 

9 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

in  a  manner  which,  whatever  else  it  might  have 
been,  was  not  thoroughly  nice. 

"That's  a  rotten  thing  to  say  about  any 
one,"  agreed  the  sympathetic  Gloria.  "Who 
calls  you  that?" 

"The  girls.  You  know  the  way  they  say  it! 
Well,  no  wonder.  Look  at  me!"  she  cried  in 
passionate  conclusion  to  her  passionate  out- 
burst. 

Gloria  looked  at  her.  She  beheld  an  ungirlish 
frump  of  a  thing  with  a  lank  but  bulgy  figure 
misclothed  in  woefully  inappropriate  garments, 
a  muddy  complexion,  a  sagging  mouth,  a  droop- 
ing chin,  a  mass  of  deranged  hair,  and  big, 
deep-gray,  lusterless  eyes,  which  implored  her. 
The  older  woman  considered  and  marveled. 

"My  dear  child,"  she  said  gently,  "are  you 
sure  it  is  n't  some  man?" 

"I  don't  care  a  darn  for  any  man  in  the 
world,"  returned  the  other  with  convincing 
promptitude.  "It  is  n't  that.  It's  just  that  I'm 
not —  I  don't-  "  Her  courage  seemed  to  ebb 
out,  but  she  gained  command  of  herself  and  con- 
tinued plaintively:  "All  I  want  is  to  be  in  the 
game  as  other  girls  play  it  —  to  have  a  little 
attention  and  maybe  a  box  of  candy  or  some 

10 


fil 


/ 


"IF  YOU  KNEW  HOW  I  LONG  TO  BE  PRETTY!" 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

flowers  once  in  a  while:  not  to  have  men  look 
past  me  like  a  tree.  It  is  n't  much  to  ask,  is  it? 
If  you  knew  how  tired  I  am  of  being  just  plain 
nobody!  There's  a  —  a  somebody  inside  here" 
—  she  thumped  her  narrow,  ribby  chest — "but 
I  can't  get  it  out."  Rising  lumpily  to  her  feet, 
she  stretched  out  hands  of  piteous  and  gro- 
tesque appeal.  "Please,  Gloria,"  she  prayed 
in  a  dwindling  and  saintly  voice,  "I  want  to 
raise  just  a  little  teeny  bit  of  hell  before  I 
die." 

A  flash  of  sympathy  and  comprehension 
from  the  actress's  intent  face  answered  this 
noble  aspiration.  "Why,  you're  real,  aren't 
you!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Did  you  think  I  was  n't  even  that?"  re- 
turned the  other  reproachfully. 

"Not  so  many  people  are.  It's  something, 
anyway.  Are  you  going  to  be  honest,  as  well  ? " 

"How,  honest?" 

"With  me.  Are  you  going  to  be  frank?" 

"Of  course." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  started  you  on  this." 

A  dismal  sort  of  muddy  flush  overspread  the 
girl's  features.  Silently  she  drew  from  her 
pocket  a  full-page  drawing  from  "Life"  which 

II 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

she  unfolded  and  handed  to  the  other.  She  laid 
a  finger  on  the  central  figure. 

"That's  Darcy,"  said  she. 

"Is  it?"  Gloria  studied  the  illustration  in- 
terestedly. "Who  drew  it?" 

"Holcomb  Lee." 

"That  scrawl  in  the  corner  means  Lee,  does 
it?  Is  it  drawn  from  life?" 

"Yes." 

"What  does  Maud  say  to  your  sitting  as 
model  for  her  young  man  ? " 

"Maud  laughed,"  said  Darcy  between  her 
teeth. 

"Pussy,  pussy!"  commented  Miss  Greene. 
"That  decided  you  to' keep  on,  I  suppose." 

"Naturally." 

"Well,  the  result  justifies  you." 

"D'  you  think  it's  pretty?" 

"I  most  certainly  do." 

"And  don't  you  think  it  looks  just  the 
least  lee-eetle  bit  like  me?"  pursued  Darcy 
shyly. 

Gloria  scrutinized  the  drawing  again,  and 
then  the  wistful  face  before  her.  With  growing 
astonishment  she  realized  tiie  fundamental 
likeness. 

12 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"More  than  that,"  said  she.  "That  young 
man  knows  how  to  see  with  his  eyes." 

"It  was  his  own  notion,"  said  the  girl  in  a 
rush  of  words.  "One  night  I  was  sitting  at  the 
piano.  He  said  there  were  lines  in  my  face  that 
he  wanted.  He  asked  me  if  I  'd  sit  for  him  once. 
Then  he  had  me  come  back  again  and  again. 
I  did  n't  mind.  I  —  I  liked  it.  It  was  the  first 
time  any  one  had  ever  seen  anything  to  admire 
about  me  since  I  was  a  child.  Oh,  and  one  day 
he  said:  'Miss  Darcy,  you  must  have  been  a 
beautiful  child.'" 

"Were  you?"  asked  Gloria. 

From  another  pocket  Darcy  took  a  small 
photograph  holder.  "Exhibit  B,"  she  said, 
passing  it  to  the  other. 

It  showed  the  head  and  shoulders  of  an 
eleven-year-old  girl. 

"It's  charming,"  said  Gloria,  and  meant  it. 

"That's  the  way  I  ought  to  look  now,  only 
more  so,  Holcomb  said.  He  said  I  was  a  spoilt 
job." 

"Pig!" 

"Oh,  no.  He  did  n't  mean  it  that  way.  He 
just  blurted  it  out  as  if  he  was  sorry  about  it. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  I  was  a  waste  of  good 

13 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

material  and  —  and  he  was  quite  peeved  about 
it  and  kept  swearing  under  his  breath  while  he 
was  drawing  me." 

"There  I'm  with  him,"  declared  Gloria  vig- 
orously. "I  hate  waste.  It's  in  my  Yankee 
blood,  I  suppose.  And  a  wasted  human  being  — 
that's  a  sort  of  practical  blasphemy,  according 
to  my  religion." 

Darcy  caught  the  inference.  "Made  in  the 
image,"  she  said  quickly.  "But  what  am  / 
made  in  the  image  of!" 

"What  happened  to  change  you  from  this?" 
Gloria  held  up  Exhibit  B. 

"Well,  I  had  an  illness  when  I  was  thirteen. 
And  about  then  we  lost  our  money.  And  my 
parents  died  a  little  while  after.  And  I  never 
seemed  to  get  back  much  life  or  spirit  or  ambi- 
tion or  digestion  or  anything." 

"Can't  get  hold  of  your  own  boot-straps?" 
queried  the  other  suggestingly. 

"Have  n't  got  the  lifting  power  if  I  did," 
answered  the  girl.  She  picked  nervously  at  her 
raveled  and  seedy  sleeve.  "Lee  said  he  believed 
I  could  look  like  that  —  the  way  he  made  me 
look  in  the  picture,  you  know  —  if  only  some 
one  who  knew  could  tell  me  how  to  go  about  it. 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

D'  you  think  maybe  —  p'raps  — •  it  taight  be 
just  partly  possible?" 

Once  more  Gloria  compared  Exhibit  A  with 
Exhibit  B,  and  then  both  with  the  original. 

"I  do,"  she  pronounced  with  fitting  solem- 
nity. 

"Oh-h-h-h!"  breathed  Darcy  in  a  long- 
drawn,  ecstatic  sigh. 

"At  least  partly  possible.  It's  worth  the 
trial,  in  any  case.  Darcy,"  said  Miss  Greene 
incisively,  "I'm  going  to  take  you  in  hand, 
myself." 

"Oh,  Gloria!  If  you  would!  I'll  love  you 
forever  for  it." 

"You  won't.  On  the  contrary,  you'll  prob- 
ably hate  me  poisonously  before  it's  half  over." 

"For  helping  me  to  be  something  and  look 
like  something  ?"  protested  the  girl  incredu- 
lously. "How  could  I  be  anything  but  the  most 
grateful — " 

"Wait  and  see,"  interrupted  the  oracle. 
"We're  going  to  begin  our  little  magic  process 
right  now.  Presto  —  pass !  You  're  a  lay  figure." 

"A  what?"  faltered  Darcy. 

"A  lay  figure.  Act  accordingly." 

"What  does  a  lay  figure  do,  please?" 

15 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"It  does  n't.  It's  dead.  It's  dumb.  Don't 
talk.  You  distract  my  mind." 

For  several  minutes  she  walked  around  the 
girl,  debating  her  from  every  angle  with  pitiless 
impersonality,  and  with  the  analytical  eye  of 
the  adept  in  a  school  wherein  attractiveness  is 
often  a  personal  and  technical  achievement.  At 
the  conclusion  of  this  ordeal  Darcy  found  her- 
self perched  upon  a  high-backed  seat  while  the 
actress  expertly  daubed  her  face  with  make-up 
from  a  box  kept  for  purposes  of  experimenta- 
tion. Next  the  subject's  hair  was  arranged,  and 
her  figure  draped  in  the  flowing  lines  of  some 
shimmering  fabric,  chosen,  after  much  pro- 
found consideration  on  Gloria's  part,  from  a 
carved  chest.  She  was  then  told  to  straighten 
her  spine,  and  smile.  Near  her  lay  Gloria's 
hand  mirror.  Before  the  proprietor  could  inter- 
fere the  girl  picked  it  up  and  sat  staring  into  it. 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  think  of  yourself?" 
queried  her  mentor  grimly. 

"I  —  I  look  like  a  bad  joke,"  whimpered 
Darcy. 

"You  do.  But  if  you  cry  I  '11  set  you  out  on 
the  fire-escape  just  as  you  are,  for  the  neighbors 
to  throw  things  at." 

16 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Pm  n-n-n-not  c-c-crying." 

"And  don't  grab,  next  time.  Well-conditioned 
lay  figures  never  do.  Sit  up  !  You  're  all  caved 
in  again." 

With  strong  hands  she  prodded,  bent,  and 
moulded  the  girl's  yielding  figure  to  the  desired 
posture.  Finally  she  wheeled  into  position,  sev- 
eral yards  away,  a  full-length  glass,  and  turned 
on  an  overhead  light. 

"Now.  Look  in  here." 

Looking,  Darcy  gave  a  little  gasp  of  wonder 
and  delight.  Under  the  modulated  radiance  and 
with  the  toning  down  of  distance,  the  harsh, 
turgid  spots  and  lines  of  the  make-up  had 
blended  into  a  harmonious  ensemble.  The  face 
was  that  of  Holcomb  Lee's  picture  —  almost. 

"Oh!"  cried  Darcy  hoarsely.  "Could  you 
ever  make  me  like  that?" 

"No." 

Darcy  collapsed.  "I  might  have  known," 
she  wailed. 

"What  do  you  expect  for  a  nickel,  in  these 
days  of  depreciated  currency?"  inquired  Gloria 
callously.  "It  is  n't  as  simple  as  it  looks." 

"But  if  you  can't  do  it  for  me — " 

"I  certainly  can't,  my  dear." 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Then  why  did  you  let  me — " 

"But   if   I   can't,   perhaps    some  one  else 


can." 


"Who?" 

"You." 

"Me!" 

"You,  your  own  little,  lone  self,  and  no  one 
else  in  the  whole  big,  round  world,"  declared 
the  actress  with  electrifying  vigor.  "Thou  art 
the  woman." 

"What  must  I  do?  How  do  I  do  it?  What  do 
I  need?"  cried  Darcy  in  a  breath. 

"Grit." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All?  No;  it  is  n't  all.  It's  just  a  beginning. 
But  if  you  think  it's  an  easy  one  you  don't 
know  what  the  word  means  yet." 

"Pooh!"  retorted  Darcy  with  another  glance 
at  the  magic  glass.  "  I  'd  cheerfully  stand  still 
and  be  stuck  full  of  red-hot  pins  and  needles, 
if  it  would  make  me  look  like  that.  I  '11  furnish 
the  grit,"  she  added  confidently,  "if  you'll 
show  me  how  to  do  the  rest." 

There  came  a  gleam  into  her  mentor's  eye 
that  the  girl  missed.  "Very  well,"  said  Gloria. 
"Allowing  that,  let's  make  a  start.  Of  all  your 

IS 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

little  ambitions  which  one  would  you  like  to 
have  fulfilled  first?" 

The  girl  pondered.  "Dress,"  she  decided 
presently.  "I  want  to  have  beautiful,  thrilling 
clothes,  like  a  princess." 

"The  one  princess  of  my  acquaintance," 
observed  Gloria,  "looks  as  though  she  dressed 
herself  backwards  out  of  a  mail-order  cata- 
logue. But  that's  beside  the  question.  Clothes 
cost  money.  How  much  money  have  you  got?" 

Darcy  clasped  her  hands.  "I'm  rich,"  she 
announced  triumphantly. 

"How  rich?" 

"Awfully  rich.  Two  thousand  big,  round, 
hard,  beautiful  dollars.  Is  n't  that  grand ! " 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  grand.  But  it's  good 
—  with  care. " 

"It's  twice  as  much  as  I've  ever  made  in  a 
whole  year  of  work  on  my  silly  little  wall-paper 
designs."  Darcy  directed  a  resentful  look  at  the 
imitation-leather  roll,  lying  in  the  corner  where 
she  had  kicked  it. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"My  blessed  old  Aunt  Sarah  wrote  it  to  me." 

"  Wrote  it?  Wrote  you  two  thousand  dollars  ? " 

"Yes.  Why  not?  She'd  intended  to  leave  it  to 

19 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

me  when  she  died.  But  she  does  n't  feel  like 
dying  for  a  long  time  yet;  so  she  wrote  and 
said  that  she  preferred  giving  it  and  getting 
thanked  because  it  was  so  much,  rather  than 
willing  it  and  getting  roasted  because  it  was  so 
little." 

"Sensible  auntie!  Are  you  going  to  be  sensi- 
ble too?" 

"How?" 

"Put  the  money  in  the  bank.  And  forget  this 
experiment." 

Darcy  stretched  out  desperate  hands  toward 
the  big,  blessed  mirror. 

"And  give  up  that  Me?" 

"Perhaps  you  never  could  be  that.  It's  only 
a  chance  at  best." 

"But  it  is  a  chance.  You  said  it  was  a  chance 
yourself." 

"Yes;  but—" 

"And  now  are  you  going  to  take  that  away 
from  me?" 

Gloria's  eyes  were  doubtful.  "Is  it  worth  two 
thousand  big,  round,  hard,  beautiful  dollars  ? 
Just  the  bare  chance  of  it?" 

"Two  million,"  declared  Darcy  with  im- 
passioned conviction. 

20 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Then  you're  determined  to  be  a  fool  about 
this?" 

"lam." 

Suddenly  Gloria  seized  and  hugged  her.  "If 
you  were  n't,  I  'd  disown  you  as  a  recreant  to 
our  sex,"  she  cried. 

"Then  you're  going  to  help  me?" 

"To  the  bitter  end!  First  let's  take  an  in- 
ventory. Be  a  lay  figure  again." 

The  girl  stiffened  to  attention.  Gloria  ticked 
off  the  points  on  her  fingers  as  she  talked. 

"You've  got  several  assets.  First,  you're  a 
lady.  Nothing  to  teach  there,  and  it's  the  hard- 
est of  all  lessons.  Second,  you've  got  a  really 
charming  voice  if  you  did  n't  whine  with  it. 
Third,  your  hair  is  nice.  But  it  might  as  well  be 
stuffing  a  pillow  for  all  the  good  you  get  of  it. 
Fourth,  you've  got  eyes  that'd  be  dangerous 
if  the  whites  were  n't  yellow.  If  you  'd  try  wear- 
ing your  heart  in  'em  instead  of  your  liver, 
they'd  do  very  well.  Fifth,  the  lines  of  the  face 
—  see  'Life.'  Sixth,  you  look  as  if  you  were 
built  to  be  light  and  strong." 

"I  rather  like  being  a  dummy,"  purred 
Darcy. 

"Wait.  The  other  side  of  the  ledger  is  com- 

21 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ing.  You  're  going  to  have  a  bad  five  minutes. 
Stand  up." 

Darcy  obeyed. 

"Like  a  camel,"  dispassionately  commented 
the  actress.  "Look  in  the  glass  now,"  she  or- 
dered. 

Darcy  looked. 

"How  d' you  like  it?"  demanded  her  in- 
structor. 

"N—  not  as  well." 

"I  should  think  likely.  You  lop." 

"I  — I  can't  help  it." 

"Nonsense!  You  slump." 

Darcy's  lips  slackened  petulantly  down  at  the 
corners.  Like  a  flash,  Gloria  transfixed  the 
offending  mouth  with  two  leveled  fingers. 

"You  peeve,"  she  accused. 

Darcy  continued  to  peeve.  Also  she  sniffled. 

"Your  chin  is  flabby,"  pursued  the  inexor- 
able critic.  "Your  mouth  is  fishy.  Your  eyes 
are  bleary.  Your  skin  is  muddy.  You  walk  like  a 
duck,  and  you  stand  like  a  bag.  And  if  you  cry 
I'll  quit  you  here,  now,  and  forever." 

With  a  mighty  struggle,  Darcy  choked  back 
her  emotions.  "  I  suppose  the  Lord  gave  me  my 
face,"  she  defended  herself  sulkily. 

22 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Don't  libel  your  Maker.  The  Lord  gave 
you  a  face.  See  Exhibit  B." 

"I  can't  help  it  if—" 

"Of  course  you  could  have  helped  it!  What 
you  Ve  done  to  your  face  is  a  crime,  Darcy  Cole! 
You  ought  to  be  arrested !  Not  to  mention  what 
you  Ve  done  to  your  figure.  I  should  n't  be  sur- 
prised," she  added  as  the  doorbell  rang,  "if  that 
were  the  police  now,  come  to  hale  you  away  to 
judgment.  Sit  still,"  she  commanded  as  Darcy, 
suddenly  conscious  of  her  exotic  costume, 
looked  about  for  a  way  of  escape. 

The  door  opened,  not  to  the  police,  but  to  a 
visitor  who  was  presented  to  the  shrinking  Miss 
Cole  as  Mr.  Thomas  Harmon.  Mr.  Harmon  dis- 
played himself  as  a  stocky  man  with  very  cheer- 
ful, bright  brown  eyes,  reassuringly  deferential 
manners,  and  a  curious  effect  of  carrying  his 
sturdy  frame  as  if  it  weighed  nothing  at  all. 
Darcy  mentally  observed  that  he  looked  as  fit 
in  his  way  as  did  Gloria  in  hers.  Already  she  was 
beginning  to  take  note  of  physical  condition. 

"Have  I  interrupted  a  rehearsal?"  asked  Mr. 
Harmon. 

"No,"  said  Gloria.  "That  is,  yes." 

"That's  a  fair  choice,"  remarked  Mr.  Har- 

23 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

mon  magnanimously.   "I'll  take  yes.  Am  I 
right,  Miss  Cole?"  ' 

"It  does  n't  matter.  We'd  finished,"  mur- 
mured Darcy  confusedly. 

"I've  promised  Mr.  Harmon,"  Gloria  ex- 
plained, turning  to  her, "  to  help  him  choose  an 
anniversary  present  for  his  sister.  It  won't  take 
more  than  an  hour.  Amuse  yourself  until  I 
come  back." 

On  the  stairway  outside,  Gloria,  intent  upon 
her  new  purpose,  addressed  her  companion. 

"Tom,  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Of  whom?" 

"Little  Darcy  Cole." 

"Oh"  — vaguely—  "I  don't  know." 

Gloria  sighed. 

"Why  the  effect  of  hopelessness?"  inquired 
Tom  Harmon. 

"Oh,  nothing.  Only,  you  don't  seem  to  use 
your  eyes  much." 

"  I  was  using  them  to  the  best  of  purposes," 
declared  Mr.  Harmon  indignantly.  "Consider- 
ing that  I  have  n't  set  them  on  you  for  nearly  a 
month,  you  can't  expect  me  to  waste  time  on 
casual  flappers  in  fancy-dress  costumes.  Be  fair, 
Gloria." 

24 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Darcy  is  n't  a  casual  flapper." 

"What  is  she,  then?  A  coming  genius?" 

"A  reigning  beauty  and  heart-wrecker  of  the 
future." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Mr.  Harmon  with  such 
fervor  that  Gloria  sighed  again. 

"Could  n't  you  see  anything  in  her,  Tom?" 
she  asked  appealingly. 

"Only  the  humpy  way  she  wore  that  costume 
and  the  fact  that  she  'd  apparently  been  crying," 
answered  Mr.  Harmon,  who,  despite  Gloria's 
strictures,  was  a  person  not  devoid  of  discern- 
ment. "She  seemed  rather  a  mess  to  me.  What's 
the  idea,  Gloria?  Anything  I  can  help  in?" 

Gloria  smiled.  "It's  like  you  to  want  to  help. 
But  this  is  my  job.  And,"  she  added  to  herself, 
"it's  going  to  be  a  real  one." 


Chapter  II 

LIGHT  and  vitality  died  out  of  the  atmo- 
sphere for  Darcy,  with  Gloria's  exit.  Di- 
vesting herself  of  the  trappings  of  glory  and 
hope  and  promise,  she  resumed  her  workaday 
garb.  The  long  mirror,  endued  with  a  sardonic 
personality,  watched  her  with  silent  but  preg- 
nant commentary.  She  did  not  wish  to  look  into 
it.  But  her  will  was  weak.  Hypnotic  effluences, 
pouring  from  the  shining  surface,  enveloped 
and  drew  her.  She  walked  before  it  and  sur- 
veyed herself.  The  effect  was  worse,  by  con- 
trast, than  she  could  have  imagined. 

"Oh,  you  frump!"  she  whispered  savagely. 
"You  frazzled  botch  of  a  frump!" 

Glowing  ambition  faded  to  dull  and  hopeless 
mockery  in  her  disillusioned  soul.  She  made  a 
bitter  grimace  at  the  changeling  in  the  glass. 

"Imbecile!"  said  she. 

It  was  a  surrender  to  grim  facts.  Suddenly 
she  felt  extremely  languid.  The  big  couch  in 
the  peaceful,  curtained  alcove  lured  her.  She 
plumped  into  it  higgledy-piggledy  and  curled 
up,  an  unsightly,  humpful  excrescence  upon  its 

26 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

suave  surface.  Within  two  minutes,  worn  out 
by  stress  of  unaccustomed  emotions,  she  was 
winging  her  airy  way  through  that  realm  of 
sleep  wherein  happiness  is  the  sure  prize  of 
being,  and  beauty  is  forever  in  the  eye  of  the 
self-beholder. 

Dream  music  crept  into  her  dreams.  Clearer 
and  richer  it  grew  until  it  filled  the  dreams  so 
full  that  they  burst  wide  open.  The  dreamer 
floated  out  through  the  cleft  to  a  realization  of 
the  fact  that  somebody  beyond  the  draperies 
which  secreted  her  was  piping  like  Pan's  very 
self,  to  an  accompaniment  of  strange,  lulling, 
minor  chords.  She  peeped  out. 

A  tall,  slender  young  man  in  clothes  which 
seemed  to  Darcy's  still  sleep-enchanted  eyes  to 
fit  him  with  a  perfection  beyond  artistry,  sat 
at  the  piano,  humming  in  a  melodious  under- 
tone a  song  of  which  he  had  apparently  for- 
gotten the  words.  One  passage  seemed  to  puzzle 
him.  He  repeated  the  melody  several  times, 
essaying  various  harmonies  to  go  with  it,  shook 
his  head  discontentedly,  and  dashed  away  into 
Gilbert  and  Sullivan. 

In  the  midst  of  this  the  door  opened.  Gloria 
stood  on  the  threshold.  A  look  of  pleasure 

27 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

flashed  over  her  face  as  she  saw  the  player.  A 
dozen  light,  soft-footed  steps  carried  her  to  him. 
She  clasped  her  hands  over  his  eyes,  let  them 
slip  to  his  shoulders,  planted  a  swift,  little  kiss 
on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  stepped  back. 

"Jack!  "she  cried. 

The  man  swung  around,  leaped  to  his  feet, 
caught  her  by  both  hands,  and  exclaimed : 

"Well,  Gloria!  It's  a  treat  to  see  you." 

"I'd  begun  to  think  you  were  never  coming 
back.  Where  do  you  hail  from?" 

"Oh,  all  over  the  map.  But  no  place  as  good 
as  this." 

He  smiled  down  at  her,  still  holding  her 
hands.  To  a  keen,  thin,  sensitive  face,  with  a 
mobile  mouth  and  quiet  eyes,  the  smile  set  the 
final  impression  of  charm.  Instanter  and  before 
he  had  spoken  ten  words,  Darcy  decided  that 
he  was  the  one  man  she  had  ever  seen  worthy 
of  Gloria  Greene.  And  she  was  glad  they  had 
found  each  other. 

"But  where 's  Darcy?"  asked  the  hostess, 
looking  about. 

"Who?"  asked  her  visitor. 

"A  little  acquaintance  whom  I  left  here  when 
I  went  out." 

28 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

The  concealed  girl  sat  up.  "Here  I  am,"  she 
announced  shyly.  "I  fell  asleep." 

"Oh,  then  I'm  afraid  I  waked  you  up  with 
my  silly  hammering,"  said  the  man. 

"N-no.  It  does  n't  matter.  I  did  n't  mind. 
I  —  I  mean,  I  liked  it,"  stammered  the  girl, 
falling  into  her  usual  acutely  zero  feeling  in  the 
presence  of  the  masculine  gender. 

"Then  go  and  play  it  again,  Jack,"  com- 
manded Miss  Greene,  "while  I  get  off  my  things. 
And  then  go  away.  You  can  come  back  for  din- 
ner. Miss  Cole  and  I  have  important  things  to 
talk  over." 

"Oh,  no!  Please!  I  can  come  some  other 
time,"  protested  Darcy  in  a  flutter  of  embar- 
rassment. "  I  don't  want  to  drive  Mr.  —  Mr.  —- 
him  away." 

"Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  has  all  the  time  in  the 
world,"  said  Gloria  calmly.  "Time  is  the  least 
of  his  troubles.  He  kills  it  at  sight." 

"Don't  mind  her,  Miss  Corey,"  put  in  Rem- 
sen. 

Darcy,  noting  the  error  in  her  name,  won- 
dered petulantly  why  Gloria  did  n't  introduce 
them  in  proper  form.  But  her  uneasiness  and 
gaucherie  presently  dissipated  before  the  cordial 

29 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

and  winning  simplicity  of  Gloria's  man.  And, 
to  her  own  surprise,  she  found  herself  volun- 
teering a  harmonic  solution  of  the  difficult 
change  where  he  had  blundered  over  the  transi- 
tion, and  humming  the  melody  while  she  played 
her  version.  He  accepted  it  with  enthusiasm. 

"Sing  it,"  he  urged.  "I  like  your  voice  — 
what  little  you  let  us  hear  of  it." 

Instantly  Darcy  stiffened  up  inside  and  stam- 
mered a  refusal.  She  did  n't  mean  to  be  ungra- 
cious to  this  sunny  and  inspiriting  young  fellow. 
It  was  just  her  unhappy  consciousness  of  a 
cramped  and  graceless  self.  Remsen  took  it 
with  matter-of-fact  good  humor. 

"I'm  sure  you  do  sing,  though,"  he  called 
back  as  his  hostess  finally  evicted  him.  "I'm 
going  to  send  you  that  song." 

But  he  did  n't  look  at  her,  she  noticed,  as  he 
said  it.  Why  should  he,  indeed,  when  Gloria 
was  in  the  room?  For  that  matter,  men  never 
looked  at  Darcy.  And  here  was  her  grievance 
against  the  scheme  of  things  exemplified  anew. 

"There  it  is,"  she  complained,  waving  an 
awkward  arm  toward  the  door  through  which 
Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  had  vanished.  "That's 
what  I  've  been  trying  to  tell  you  about." 

30 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Jack?"  puzzled  her  hostess.  "Why,  what's 
wrong  with  Jack?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  the  girl  wearily. 
"But  —  did  you  notice  what  he  did  when  he 
left?" 

"Offered  to  send  you  some  music.  I  thought 
it  was  quite  polite.  Jack's  always  courteous." 

"Oh,  courteous!  He  did  n't  even  look  at  me." 

"Well,  why— " 

"That's  it!  Why?  Why  should  any  man  look 
at  me?  They  don't.  They — they're  strictly 
neutral  in  their  attitude.  And  women  are  — 
well  —  just  tolerant  and  friendly.  'Darcy 's  such 
a  nice  girl.'  Where  does  that  get  you?"  fiercely 
demanded  the  subject  of  it.  "People  don't 
really  know  I  'm  alive.  I  might  as  well  be  a  ghost. 
I  wish  I  were.  At  least  I  'd  scare  'em." 

"Don't  try  to  scare  me,"  returned  the  other. 
"Now  list  to  the  voice  of  wisdom.  You  complain 
that  people  don't  know  you're  alive.  Why 
should  they?  You  don't  give  out  anything  — 
warmth,  color,  personality.  I  'm  not  so  sure  you 
are  alive.  You  're  inert." 

"I  have  n't  anything  to  give,"  mourned  the 
accused. 

"Why?  Because  you've  wasted  it.  You've 

31 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

had  beauty;  good  looks,  anyway.  You  have  let 
that  die  down  to  nothing.  One  thing  only  you  Ve 
kept  up,  and  that  ought  to  be  an  asset.  You  Ve 
got  a  voice.  Do  you  ever  use  it  for  other 
people?" 

"I  don't  like  to  sing  before  people." 

"There  you  are!  Always  thinking  of  your 
little  self.  You  give  nothing  to  the  world,  yet 
you  think  yourself  ill-used  because — " 

"What  does  the  world  give  me?"  broke  in 
the  aggrieved  Darcy. 

"Nothing  for  nothing.  What  would  you  ex- 
pect? Do  you  think  it's  going  to  smile  at  you 
when  you  scowl  at  it,  and  stop  its  own  business 
and  gaze  on  you  adoringly  and  say,  'Much 
obliged  to  you  for  being  alive '  ?  It  is  n't  that 
kind  of  a  world,  Miss  Amanda  Darcy  Cole." 

The  owner  of  the  despised  first  name  winced. 
"I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  murmured. 

"Thinking  is  going  to  be  part  of  your  edu- 
cation from  now  on.  You  can't  begin  too  soon." 

"I'm  ready,"  said  the  girl  meekly.  "Do  you 
want  me  to  begin  with  my  voice?  Shall  I  take 
singing  lessons?" 

"Oh,  it's  got  to  go  a  lot  deeper  than  that," 
was  Gloria's  grim  reply.  "You'll  begin  by 

32 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

taking  living  lessons.  Do  you  know  what  that 
means?" 

"I'm  not  sure  I  do.  It  sounds  awfully  hard," 
faltered  the  other. 

"It  is.  Go  home  and  think  it  over.  Come 
back  here  to-morrow  at  this  time  and  get  your 
orders." 

"Yessum,"  said  Darcy,  folding  her  hands 
with  assumed  docility. 

Gloria  regarded  her  with  suspicion.  "It 
is  n't  going  to  be  any  joke,"  said  she  with 
severity. 

"No'm,"  assented  Darcy  with  a  still  more 
lamblike  expression.  But  her  eyes  twinkled 
through  it. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  want  to  take  it  that  way," 
observed  the  actress.  "But  Pd  advise  you  to 
save  your  high  spirits  for  the  time  when  they'll 
be  needed." 

In  the  seclusion  of  the  hallway  Darcy  drew 
out  Exhibit  A  and  sought  inspiration  from  the 
charming  face  which  Holcomb  Lee  had  sur- 
rounded with  gallant  and  admiring  suitors  in 
the  illustration. 

"If  it  can  be  done,"  said  Darcy  to  the  picture 
with  the  solemnity  of  a  rite,  "I'll  do  it." 


Chapter  III 

AT  its  best,  the  old  Remsen  house  on 
West  Twelfth  Street,  wore  its  ancestral 
respectability  cloaked  with  gloom.  Home 
though  it  was  to  Jacob  of  that  name  and  pos- 
session, he  regarded  it  with  distinct  distaste  as 
he  approached  the  dull,  brown  steps  leading  to 
the  massive  door.  All  that  could  reasonably  be 
done  to  furbish  it  up  against  the  young  master's 
return,  old  Connor,  Jacob's  inherited  man,  had 
faithfully  attempted:  the  house's  face  was  at 
least  washed,  and  its  linen,  so  to  speak,  fresh 
and  clean.  But  a  home  long  unused  becomes 
musty  to  a  sense  deeper  than  the  physical. 
Entering,  young  Mr.  Remsen  felt  a  chill  de- 
scend upon  his  blithe  spirit.  A  basso  profondo 
clock  within  struck  a  hollow  five. 

"Hark  from  the  tomb!"  observed  young 
Mr.  Remsen.  "I  think  I'll  move  to  the  club." 

Slow  footsteps,  sounding  from  below,  dissi- 
pated that  intention. 

"No;  I  can't  do  that.  I've  got  to  stay  here 
and  be  looked  after  by  old  Connor,  or  forever 

34 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

wound  his  feelings.  That's  the  worst  of  family 
responsibilities." 

The  footsteps  mounted  the  basement  stairs 
unevenly  and  with  a  suggestion  of  a  stagger  in 
them. 

"What!  Connor  taken  to  drink?"  thought 
Jacob  with  sinful  amusement.  "Wonder  where 
he  found  it.  There  is  hope,  still!" 

The  old  servitor  puffed  into  sight  half  carry- 
ing, half  dragging  a  huge  clothes-basket. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Jacob. 

"Your  mail,  sir." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  other,  with  a  sar- 
donicism  which  was  lost  upon  Connor's  matter- 
of-fact  mind. 

"No,  sir.  There's  another  half-basket  down- 
stairs." 

"Good  Lord!  What'll  I  do  with  it?" 

"  If  I  may  suggest,  sir,  it  ought  to  be  read." 

"Sound  idea!  You  read  it,  Connor." 

"Me,  sir?" 

"Certainly.  I  don't  feel  up  to  it.  I'm  tired. 
Strain  of  travel  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Be- 
sides" —  he  cast  a  glance  of  repulsion  upon  the 
white  heap  —  "  this  suggests  work.  And  you 
know  my  principles  regarding  work." 

35 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Yes,  sir."  Connor  rubbed  his  ear  painfully. 
Of  course  the  master  was  joking.  Always  a 
great  one  for  his  joke,  he  was.  But  — 

"There's  a  special  delivery  quite  at  the  top, 
sir,  marked  'Immediate.'  Don't  you  think  that 
perhaps — " 

"Oh,  all  right:  all  right!  If  I've  got  to  begin 
I  may  as  well  go  through." 

Having,  like  some  thousands  of  other  young 
Americans,  departed  from  his  native  land  and 
normal  routine  of  life  for  a  long  period  on  im- 
portant business  of  a  muddy,  sanguinary,  and 
profoundly  wearisome  nature,  concerning  which 
he  had  but  the  one  wish,  namely,  to  forget  the 
whole  ugly  but  necessary  affair  as  swiftly  and 
comprehensively  as  possible,  Mr.  Jacob  Rem- 
sen  had  deemed  it  wise  to  cut  loose  from  home 
considerations  as  far  as  feasible;  but  he  now 
reflected  that  he  had  perhaps  made  a  mistake 
in  having  no  mail  forwarded.  Well,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  make  up  for  arrears.  He 
took  off  his  coat  and  plunged  in.  The  "immedi- 
ate" special  he  set  aside,  to  teach  it,  as  he 
stated  to  the  acquiescent  Connor,  not  to  be  so 
infernally  assertive  and  insistent,  while  he  ran 
through  a  few  scores  of  communications,  mainly 

36 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

devoted  to  inviting  him  to  dinners  and  dances 
which  had  'passed  into  the  shades  anywhere 
from  a  year  to  eighteen  months  previously. 

"Now,  I'll  attend  to  you,"  said  he  severely 
to  the  special.  "Only,  don't  brag  about  your 
superior  importance,  next  time." 

He  opened  it  and  glanced  at  the  heading. 

"Connor,"  said  he,  "this  is  from  Mr. 
Bentley." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Jacob." 

"He  says  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  see  me 
without  delay." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  believe,  Connor,  that  it  is  really  as 
necessary  as  he  pretends  for  Mr.  Bentley  to 
see  me  without  delay?" 

"Mr.  Bentley  is  your  lawyer,  sir,"  pointed 
out  Connor  firmly.  "If  he  says  so,  sir,  I  think 
it  would  be  so." 

"You're  wrong;,  Connor;  you're  wrong!  This 
letter  is  dated  just  seven  weeks  ago.  As  I  have 
n't  seen  Mr.  Bentley  yet,  and  am  still  in  good 
health  and  spirits,  it  can't  have  been  vitally 
necessary  that  he  see  me  without  delay,  can  it? 
Necessity  knows  no  law,  Connor,  and  law  knows 
no  necessity  that  can't  wait  seven  weeks." 

37 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Mr.  Bentley  has  been  telephoning,  sir, 
almost  every  day." 

"Has  he?  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me?" 

"I  tried  to  inform  you  about  several  tele- 
phone messages,  Mr.  Jacob — " 

"So  you  did,  when  you  met  me  at  the 
pier." 

"And  you  told  me  if  the  telephone  annoyed 
me,  to  have  it  taken  out,  sir." 

"Right;  right;  perfectly  right!  Did  you  have 
it  taken  out?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  it  does  n't  annoy  you?" 

"No-,  Mr.  Jacob—  " 

"What  a  blessing  is  philosophic  calm!  I'll 
take  pattern  by  you  and  learn  not  to  let  it 
annoy  me,  either.  That's  it  ringing  now.  Let  it 
ring.  Are  my  dinner  clothes  laid  out?" 

"Yes,  sir.  And,  beg  pardon,  sir;  I  think  that's 
the  doorbell  not  the  'phone.  It'll  be  Mr.  Bent- 
ley.  I  took  the  liberty  of  'phoning  him,  sir,  that 
you'd  be  here  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner — " 

"His  blood  be  on  your  head.  Let  him  in, 
Connor." 

Mr.  Herbert  Bentley,  of  Bench  &  Bentley, 
a  huge,  puffy  man  of  fifty,  rolled  into  the 

38 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

room,  shook  hands  warmly  with  Remsen,  went 
through  the  usual  preliminary  queries  as  to 
health,  recent  experience,  and  time  of  return, 
and  then  attacked  the  matter  in  hand. 

"How's  your  family  pride,  Jacob?" 

"Languid." 

"It's  likely  to  be  stirred  up  a  bit." 

"Some  of  us  been  distinguishing  ourselves?" 

"Not  specially.  But  your  cousins  are  threat- 
ening a  will  contest." 

"If  they  want  to  pry  me  loose  from  this 
grisly  mausoleum,"  observed  Jacob,  with  an 
illustrative  wave  of  the  hand  around  the  gloom- 
ful  drawing-room,  "  I  '11  listen  to  terms." 

"Nothing  of  that  sort.  The  house  is  yours  as 
long  as  you  fulfill  the  terms  of  your  grand- 
father's will." 

"Then  what's  the  contest  to  me?  Let  my 
amiable  cousins  choke  themselves  and  each 
other  with  law — " 

"It's  a  question  of  your  Great-Uncle  Sime- 
on's estate.  They  want  you  as  a  witness." 

"For  what?" 

"To  prove  the  old  boy's  insanity." 

"Who  says  he  was  insane?" 

"They  do.  Was  n't  he?" 

39 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Well,  he  was  eccentric  in  some  particulars," 
admitted  Jacob  cautiously. 

"As  for  instance?" 

"Let  me  think.  Whenever  there  was  a  long 
drought  he  used  to  claim  that  he  was  a  tree- 
toad,  and  he  'd  climb  the  ancestral  elm  up  at  the 
Westchester  place  and  squawk  for  rain." 

"Eccentric,  as  you  say.  Anything  else?" 

"He  had  the  largest  collection  of  tin-can 
labels  in  Westchester  County.  At  least,  he 
boasted  that  it  was  the  largest,  and  I  never 
heard  any  one  dispute  it." 

"What  did  he  do  with  'em?" 

"Same  as  any  kind  of  a  collecting  bug  does 
with  his  collection;  nothing." 

"I  see.  Is  that  all?" 

"Everything  I  can  recall  except  that  every 
May  Day  he  used  to  put  on  a  high  hat  and  a 
pink  sash  and  dance  around  a  Maypole  in  Cen- 
tral Park.  As  he  did  n't  care  whose  Maypole 
it  happened  to  be,  he  usually  got  arrested." 

"I  see.  And  the  rest  of  the  family;  did  they 
show  any  symptoms?" 

"Nothing  special." 

"What  do  you  mean,  special?  Come,  out 
with  it!" 

40 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Of  course  there  was  my  poor  old  maiden 
aunt,  Miss  Melinda.  You've  heard  of  her?" 

"Only  as  a  name." 

"She  did  her  best  to  change  that.  When  she 
was  fifty-four  she  eloped  with  the  coachman. 
Only  they  could  n't  get  any  one  to  marry  'em, 
so  she  had  to  come  home." 

"What  was  wrong?  Was  the  coachman  mar- 
ried already?" 

"No.  But  he  was  a  trifle  colored." 

"  Interesting  line  of  relatives  you  carry.  What 
about  the  remainder  of  the  tribe?" 

"Just  about  the  usual  run  of  old  families,  I 
guess.  One  of  the  other  aunts  used  to  do  a  little 
in  the  anonymous  letter  line  and  break  up 
happy  families.  Then,  of  course,  Cousin  Fred 
used  to  pull  some  fairly  interesting  stuff  when 
he  had  the  d-t's,  but  the  claim  that  Uncle  Sime- 
on's first  wife  dressed  up  as  the  Van  Cortland 
Manor  ghost  is  n't  • — 

"Enough  said!  I  did  n't  ask  for  a  new  edition 
of  the  Chronique  Scandaleuse.  How  would  you 
like  to  tell  all  this  to  the  court,  and  through  it 
to  the  newspapers  ? " 

"I'll  see 'em  d d  first!" 

"All  very  well.  But  if  they  put  you  on  the 

41 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

stand,  you'll  have  to  tell  or  go  to  jail.  And 
they  '11  put  you  on,  for  you  're  their  one  best  bet. 
With  you  they  can  win  and  without  you  they 
can't." 

"Then  they  lose.  I'll  skip  the  country  rather 
than  rake  up  all  that  dead  and  decayed  stuff." 

"How  about  your  grandfather's  will,  under 
which  you  inherit  this  house  and  most  of  your 
fortune?  Have  you  forgotten  that  you're  re- 
quired to  inhabit  the  house,  from  now  on,  at 
least  three  months  out  of  every  six  until  you  're 
married?" 

"So  I  have.  Happy  alternative!  Lose  the 
house  or  parade  the  family  skeletons  all  diked 
out  in  pink  sashes  and  tin-can  labels.  When 
does  the  blasted  suit  come  on?" 

"I  don't  know.  When  I  do  I  '11  let  you  know. 
Then  it's  up  to  you  either  to  stand  a  siege  in 
the  house  or  to  light  out  and  go  into  hiding, 
and  take  a  chance  on  getting  back  within  the 
three  months." 

"Well,  Connor,"  said  Jacob  Remsen  after 
the  lawyer  had  left,  "here's  a  complication  for 
a  peace-and-quiet-loving  young  man!  How  did 
such  a  respectable  person  as  you  ever  come  to 
take  service  in  such  a  herd  of  black  sheep?" 

.42 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  those  goings- 
on,  sir,"  asseverated  the  old  man  doggedly. 
"If  they  put  me  in  jail  the  rest  of  my  life  I 
could  n't  remember  ever  hearing  a  word  about 
any  of  'em,  sir." 

"Good  man!  Don't  you  testify  to  anything 
that  would  tend  to  incriminate  or  degrade  the 
memory  of  Uncle  Simeon  or  any  other  Remsen. 
And  neither  will  I.  However,  this  is  n't  dressing 
for  dinner." 

Having  changed,  young  Mr.  Remsen  returned 
to  dine  with  Gloria  Greene.  He  found  her  smil- 
ing over  a  note  which  she  carefully  blotted 
before  turning  from  her  desk  to  greet  him. 

"What  did  you  think  of  my  protegee?"  she 
inquired.  "I'm  collecting  opinions  on  her." 

"The  little  Colter  girl?  She  is  n't  as  sniffy  as 
she  appears  at  first  sight." 

"Her  name  is  n't  Colter.  And  I  don't  know 
how  you  can  judge.  First  sight  is  all  that  you 
had  of  her." 

"Not  so,  fair  lady.  She  passed  me  in  the  hall- 
way as  I  was  waiting  for  a  taxi  to  come  along. 
I  could  see  her  nerving  herself  up  to  say  some- 
thing and  finally  she  said  it." 

"Well,  what  was  it?" 

43 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Nothing  important.  Just  that  she  was  sorry 
she  could  n't  sing  for  me  and  that  some  other 
time  she  would.  But  she  said  it  quite  pleasantly. 
She  has  n't  a  bad  voice." 

"Effect  of  Lesson  the  First,"  commented  the 
actress. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  that  young  per- 
son, Gloria  ?  Working  some  of  your  white  magic 
on  her?" 

"Just  remaking  life  a  little  for  her,"  replied 
the  other  offhandedly.  "This  is  part  of  it." 

She  fluttered  the  note-paper  on  which  she 
had  been  writing. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Remsen.  "A  pass  to 
Paradise?  She  looked  as  cheered-up  as  if  she 
were  getting  something  of  the  kind." 

"It's  a  commutation  ticket  to  Hades,  first- 
class,"  was  the  actress's  Delphic  response. 
"But  the  poor  child  won't  know  it  till  she  gets 
there." 


Chapter  IV 


HOPE,  which  is  credited  with  various 
magic  properties,  had  kindled  a  sickly 
sort  of  sub-glow  in  Darcy  Cole's  pasty  face  as 
she  arrived  at  Miss  Greene's  address,  to  keep 
her  appointment.  Part  of  it  subsided  at  sight 
of  the  indication  that  the  elevator  was  still  on 
strike.  The  remainder  had  vanished  long  before 
she  had  surmounted  the  four  flights  of  stairs 
and  stood  panting  dolorously  before  Gloria 
Greene.  That  composed  person  feigned  polite 
surprise. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Darcy?" 

"Those  awful  —  pouf !  —  stairs.  How  — 
whoof-uff !  —  d'  you  ever  —  whoo-oo-oof !  —  do 
it?" 

"Two  steps  at  a  time,"  explained  the  actress 
practically,  "cuts  the  distance  in  half." 

Darcy  looked  skeptical.  "It  would  kill  me," 
she  declared. 

"Very  likely,  as  you  are  now.  We're  going  to 
change  all  that." 

The  gleam  returned  into  Darcy's  big,  dull 
eyes.  "Yes?"  said  she  eagerly.  "How?" 

45 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  should  say,"  answered  the  actress  with  a 
carefully  judicial  air,  "that  you'd  better  start 
in  by  learning  to  give  up." 

"Give  up  what?" 

"Everything  that  makes  life  worth  living." 

"Is  it  a  joke?"  asked  Darcy,  dubiously. 

"Far  from  it.  Food,  for  instance.  You  eat 
too  much." 

"Often  I  don't  get  any  luncheon  at  all." 

"And  too  irregularly,"  pursued  the  accuser. 
"You  drink  too  much." 

"Gloria!  One  cocktail  before  dinner,"  was 
the  indignant  response. 

"And  too  regularly,"  went  on  the  relentless 
judge.  "One  is  one  too  many  for  a  girl  with 
your  complexion." 

"Go  on,"  said  Darcy  with  sullen  resignation. 

"You  sleep  too  much." 

"Eight  hours  is  n't — " 

"You  interrupt  too  much,"  broke  in  the 
mentor  severely.  "You  laze  too  much.  You 
shirk  and  postpone  too  much.  You  nibble  too 
much  candy.  When  you  feel  below  par  you 
take  a  pill  instead  of  a  walk.  Don't  you?" 

The  girl  stared.  "How  do  you  know  all  these 
things  about  me?" 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Read  'em  in  your  face,  of  course.  And  a  lot 
more,  besides." 

"Nobody  else  ever  read  'em  there.  Not  even 
the  doctor." 

"Probably  he  has,  but  is  too  polite  to  tell 
you  all  he  sees,  or  too  cynical  to  believe  that 
you'd  take  the  trouble  to  do  anything  about 
it  if  he  told  you.  Or  perhaps  he  just  does  n't 
see  it." 

"Then  how  do  you?" 

"I'm  an  expert,  my  dear  young  innocent. 
It's  part  of  my  profession  to  be  good-looking 
just  as  it  is  to  keep  well-read  and  well-dressed. 
And  a  lot  harder!" 

"How  can  it  be  harder  for  you?  You're 
beautiful  just  naturally." 

"I'm  not  beautiful.  Your  Holcomb  Lee  or 
any  other  artist  with  a  real  eye  could  reduce  my 
face  to  a  mere  scrap-heap  of  ill-assorted  fea- 
tures. I'm  reasonably  pleasant  to  look  at  be- 
cause I  work  hard  at  the  business  of  being  just 
that.  And  I  'm  going  to  keep  on  being  pleasant 
to  look  at  for  twenty  good  years  yet  if  care  and 
clothes  will  do  it!" 

"Clothes  help  such  a  lot,"  sighed  the  girl. 
"When  are  you  going  to  help  me  with  mine?" 

47 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Gloria  Greene  looked  disparagingly  at  the 
girl's  slack  and  flaccid  body. 

"When  you  develop  something  to  put  'em 
on,"  said  she  curtly. 

"But  I  thought  that  if  I  had  some  nice 
clothes — " 

"You'd  develop  inside  them  like  the  butter- 
fly in  the  chrysalis,"  supplemented  the  other. 
"Unfortunately  it  does  n't  work  that  way  with 
humans.  Did  n't  I  tell  you  yesterday  that  it 
was  n't  going  to  be  easy?" 

"Yes.  But  you're  not  telling  me  anything 
now.  You're  just —  just  discouraging  me." 

"Why,  you  poor-spirited  little  grub,  you 
have  n't  even  touched  the  outer  edge  of  dis- 
couragement yet.  Here!  Can  you  do  this?" 

Lifting  her  hands  high  above  her  glowing 
head,  Gloria  swept  them  down  in  a  long  curve 
of  beauty,  until  she  stood  bowed  but  with  un- 
bending knees,  her  pink  fingers  flattened  on  the 
floor. 

"Of  course  I  can't,"  whined  Darcy. 

"Try  it,"  suggested  the  other  enticingly. 
"It  is  n't  hard." 

Darcy  did  not  stir.  "I've  got  corsets  on," 
said  she. 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"You  have.  Awful  ones.  Take  'em  off." 

"I  will,"  she  promised. 

Performance,  not  promise,  was  what  her 
instructor  demanded.  "Do  it  now." 

With  a  sigh,  the  girl  obeyed.  "It  makes  me 
look  sloppier  than  ever,"  she  lamented,  glancing 
toward  the  mirror. 

"Not  actually,"  was  the  counsel  —  of  dubi- 
ous comfort  —  from  the  other.  "You  only  feel 
now  as  you  Ve  been  looking  all  the  time.  Don't 
get  another  pair  until  I  tell  you.  I'll  pick  'em 
out  if  you  still  want  them  when  Andy  Dunne 
is  through  with  you." 

"Who's  Andy  Dunne?" 

"Andy,"  explained  the  actress  concisely,  "is 
the  devil." 

"That's  encouraging,"  murmured  the  girl. 

"Anyway,  you'll  think  he  is.  He's  my 
trainer." 

"Trainer!  You  talk  as  if  you  were  a  prize- 
fighter." 

"I  cut  Andy's  lip  with  a  straight  left  once," 
said  Miss  Greene  with  a  proud,  reminiscent 
gleam  in  her  eye.  "  It  was  one  of  the  biggest 
moments  of  my  life." 

Taking  from  her  desk  the  note  which  she  had 

49 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

described  to  Jacob  Remsen  as  a  commutation 
ticket  to  the  last  station,  down-line,  she  handed 
it  to  Darcy.  The  girl  read  it. 

ANDY:  This  is  Miss  Darcy  Cole.  Put  her 
through  as  you  did  me,  only  more  so. 

GLORIA  GREENE 

Darcy  tucked  it  carefully  into  her  imitation- 
leather  roll,  saying: 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  take  all  this 
trouble  for  me." 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  for  you  entirely.  Call  it  part  of 
my  contribution  to  the  general  welfare.  It  gives 
me  a  pain  in  my  artistic  sense  to  see  a  woman- 
job  spoiled;  like  a  good  picture  daubed  over 
by  a  bad  amateur.  So  if  I  can  rescue  you  as  a 
brand  from  the  burning  and  put  you  back  on 
earth,  a  presentable  human,  I  '11  feel  like  a  major 
of  the  Salvation  Army.  That's  why  I've  de- 
cided to  take  you  in  hand.  And  may  Heaven 
have  mercy  upon  your  body!" 

"Amen!"  confirmed  Darcy  piously,  feeling 
for  the  introductory  note. 

"Only,"  added  Gloria  slowly,  "I  want  to  be 
clear  on  one  point.  I  'd  like  to  know  for  whom 
I'm  really  doing  this." 

50 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Why,  for  me,  of  course,"  said  Darcy,  big- 
eyed. 

"Not  for  any  one  else?" 

"Who  else  should  there  be?  I  told  you  there 
was  n't  any — " 

"I  know.  You  swore  there  was  no  man  in 
this.  Then  on  top  of  it,  you  rouse  my  darkest 
suspicions  by  acting  like  a  school-girl  yesterday 
and  tearing  your  hair  because  the  first  casual 
man  that  comes  along  does  n't  gaze  soulfully  at 
you  when  he  takes  his  departure." 

"Gloria,  I  hate  you!  D'  you  mean  Mr.  Rem- 
sen?  Surely  you  don't  for  a  minute  imagine — " 

"No;  I  don't  suppose  Jack  has  anything  to  do 
with  it,  personally.  But  I  seem  to  get  a  strong 
indication  of  Man  as  a  species  somewhere  in 
the  background  of  this  business." 

Pink  grew  Miss  Darcy  Cole;  then  red,  and 
eventually  scarlet,  under  Gloria's  interested 
regard. 

"You  see!"  exclaimed  that  acute  person. 
"Come,  now.  Explain." 

"It's  —  it's  Maud  Raines's  fault,"  blurted 
Darcy. 

"Agreed  that  it's  all  Maud's  fault.  Go  on." 

"No;  it  is  n't  all  Maud's  fault,"  corrected 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Darcy  with  a  palpable  effort  to  do  exact  justice. 
"It's  partly  the  British  War  Office's  fault." 

"International  complications.  Maud  and  the 
British  War  Office.  Mr.  Lee  had  better  look 
out!" 

"Not  at  all!  It  is  n't  Maud  that  the  British 
War  Office  has  been  writing  letters  to." 

"No?  Who  is  it?" 

"Me." 

"Is  this  a  long-distance  flirtation  with  an 
official  Britisher,  all  wound  round  with  red 
tape?  What  kind  of  letters?" 

"Well,  not  personal,  exactly,"  reluctantly 
admitted  the  girl.  "Propaganda  matter.  It's 
sent  out  by  their  press  bureau.  But  it  always 
comes  addressed  in  nice,  firm,  man-ny  hand- 
writing." 

"But  why  do  they  send  to  you?" 

Darcy  giggled.  "That's  the  funny  part  of  it. 
They  must  have  got  me  confused  with  Dorsey 
Coles,  the  essayist.  He  used  to  live  on  East 
Fifty-Sixth  Street." 

"Very  likely.  When  does  the  Man  enter?  " 

"We-ell,  you  see,  Maud  and  Helen  were  aw- 
fully curious  about  my  English  correspondent." 

"Naturally." 

52 


Wanted :  A  Husband 

"So  I  —  well,  I  just  let  'em  be." 

"Is  that  any  reason  why  you  should  wear 
the  expression  of  one  about  to  confess  to  a  cold- 
blooded murder?" 

"Wait.  You  know  I  told  you  Maud  had  been 
catty  about  my  sitting  to  Holcomb  Lee." 

"Yes." 

"  This  is  what  I  overheard  her  say  to  Helen, 
and  I  'm  not  even  sure  she  did  n't  mean  me  to 
overhear.  She  said,  '  Darcy 's  been  sitting  to 
Holcomb.  Fancy  it!  Darcy  as  a  model!  I  can  no 
more  imagine  her  being  a  model  than  I  could 
her  being  engaged.'  Was  n't  that  nasty  of  her, 
Gloria!" 

"It  was.  And  you  very  properly  smothered 
her  with  a  pillow  as  she  slept  and  have  come 
here  to  make  your  confession,"  twinkled  Gloria. 

"Worse,"  said  Darcy  in  a  small,  tremulous 
voice.  "Much  worse." 

Gloria  sat  up  straight.  "No!"  she  cried  hope- 
fully. 

"Yes.  For  Helen  said,  'Well,  somebody  in 
England  seems  pretty  much  interested  in  her, 
anyway.'  That's  what  put  it  into  my  head." 

"I  wish  you'd  put  it  into  mine,"  said  the 
other  plaintively.  "You  don't  seem  to  get  any 

53 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

nearer  the  subject  of  your  romance,  which  is 
Man." 

"Well  —  promise  not  to  laugh  at  me, 
Gloria!" 

"I'll  try." 

"Just  to  show  'em  both,  I  got  engaged." 

"Darcy!" 

"Yes;  and  one  evening  when  both  of  the  girls 
were  being  just  a  little  extra  peacocky  over 
their  double  wedding  next  October  and  letting 
me  understand  what  a  favor  it  was  to  me  that 
I  was  to  be  double  maid  of  honor,  I  just  up  and 
told  'em  I  did  n't  know  whether  I  could  be  as 
I  had  an  important  engagement  to  be  married 
myself." 

"Lovely !  Gorgeous ! " 

"They  jumped  at  the  English  letters.  So  I 
told  them  that  I  thought  I  might  as  well  own 
up  about  the  affair;  how  I'd  met  him  on  my 
vacation  in  Canada  and  helped  him  try  out 
horses  for  the  British  Government,  which  had 
sent  him  over  for  that  purpose  when  he  was 
wounded,  and  we  had  corresponded  ever  since. 
It  was  awfully  well  done,  if  I  do  say  it  as 
should  n't." 

"Let  me  get  this   right,"  pleaded  Gloria. 

54 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"You  made  him  all  up  yourself,  just  on  the 
basis  of  those  war-office  letters?" 

"N-no.  That's  just  the  trouble." 

"You  did  n't  make  him  up?" 

"N-n-not  entirely." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  do  be  more  explicit!" 

"I'm  t-t-trying  to,"  said  Darcy  brokenly. 
"I  got  him  out  of  a  book." 

"Then  he's  imaginary." 

"I'm  afraid  he's  real.  Awfully  real." 

"Darcy  Cole;  what  book  did  you  get  him  out 
of?" 

"Burke's  Peerage." 

With  one  headlong  plunge  Gloria  projected 
herself  upon  the  couch  where  she  wallowed 
ecstatically  among  the  pillows. 

"Oh,  Darcy!  Darcy!"  she  gasped  when  she 
could  achieve  coherent  speech.  "For  this  I  shall 
love  you  forever.  I  '11  do  more.  I  '11  adopt  you. 
I  '11  endow  you.  I  '11  —  I  '11  canonize  you. 
What's  his  name?" 

"Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  Bart.,  of  Veyze  Hold- 
ings, Hampshire,  England,"  recited  the  girl 
formally. 

Dissociating  herself  from  a  convulsed  silk 
coverlet,  Gloria  straightened  up.  "Sir  Mon- 

55 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

trose  Veyze,"  she  repeated  thoughtfully  and 
relishingly.  "Why  that  particular  and  titled 
gentleman?" 

"  I  got  to  the  Vs  before  I  found  any  one  that 
seemed  to  fill  the  bill." 

"What  special  qualification  commended  him 
to  your  favorable  consideration,  Miss  Cole?" 

"Well,  he's  unmarried." 

"That's  important." 

"And  he's  far  away.  I  came  across  that  in  an 
English  magazine." 

"How  far?" 

"Way  out  in  the  East  somewhere  where  one 
of  the  fifty-seven  varieties  of  left-over  wars  is 
still  going  on." 

"So  far,  so  good.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  him  when  he  comes  back?" 

"If  I  only  knew!"  was  the  miserable  rejoin- 
der. "Maybe  he  won't  come  back.  Maybe 
something  will  happen  to  him." 

"It  won't.  He'll  bear  a  charmed  life,  just  to 
plague  you,"  retorted  her  friend  with  convic- 
tion. "You  bloodthirsty  little  beast!"  she 
added. 

"The  worst  I  wish  him,"  said  Darcy  tear- 
fully, "is  an  honorable  military  death." 

56 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Oh!  Is  that  all!  You'd  have  to  go  into  deep 
mourning." 

"That'd  be  better  than  suicide.  And  I  can't 
see  anything  else  for  me  to  do  if  he  lives  through. 
I  won't  confess  to  that  Maud-cat!  I  won't!  I 
won't!  I  won't!" 

"I  don't  blame  you.  But  when  are  you  to  be 
married  ? " 

"Uncertain.  That's  the  advantage  of  having 
a  fiance  at  war." 

"You  must  make  it  after  the  double  wed- 
ding," decided  Gloria.  "Just  for  curiosity,  how 
did  you  describe  him?" 

"I've  rather  dodged  that,  so  far.  But  I  think 
I'd  like  to  have  him  tall  and  slender  and  with 
nice,  steady,  friendly  eyes,  like  Mr.  Remsen." 

"So  would  Monty,  doubtless,"  surmised 
Gloria. 

"Who?" 

"Monty  Veyze." 

"Gloria!  Do  you  know  Sir  Montrose  Veyze?" 

"Rather.  I  visited  at  his  sister's  last  time  I 
was  in  England." 

"Heavens!  That  makes  it  seem  so  ghastly 
real.  What's  he  like?" 

"Round  and  roly-poly  and  red  and  fierce- 

57 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

looking;  but  a  good  sort.  And  he  used  to  be 
quite  an  admirer  of  mine.  I  do  think,  Darcy, 
that  with  the  whole  of  Burke' s  Peerage  to  choose 
from  you  might  have  refrained  from  trespassing 
on  my  preserves.  It  is  n  't  clubby  of  you ! " 

"You  can  have  him!"  cried  the  girl  desper- 
ately. "Any  one  can  have  him!  I  don't  care  how 
round  and  red  and  — •" 

"He's  rather  far  from  your  picture  of  him, 
certainly.  Not  a  bit  like  Jack  Remsen.  So  you 
approve  of  Jack,  do  you  ? " 

"I  thought  him  awfully  attractive,"  said 
Darcy  shyly. 

"Oh,  Jack's  a  dear.  It's  a  pity  about  his 
money." 

"Has  he  lost  it?" 

"No.  Got  it.  Too  much.  Without  it  he  might 
make  a  real  actor.  He's  the  best  amateur  in 
New  York  to-day.  But  —  an  amateur." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"Dabbles  in  artistic  things.  And  plays  at  be- 
ing everybody's  little  sunbeam.  Never  mind 
Jack.  It's  the  imaginary  Sir  Montrose  Veyze 
that  we've  got  to  figure  on." 

"Oh,  do  tell  me  what  to  do  with  him!"  im- 
plored the  too-inventive  Darcy. 

58 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Keep  him.  Prize  him  above  rubies  and  dia- 
monds. Nothing  has  given  me  a  laugh  like  that 
for  a  year." 

"But  if—" 

"Let  the  future  take  care  of  its  ifs.  Who  can 
tell  what  will  turn  up?  Fate  is  kind  to  creative 
genius.  And  I'm  going  to  assist  Fate  if  I  can. 
I  '11  make  you  a  bargain,  Darcy,  for  half  of  your 
beautiful,  inspiring,  heaven-sent  lie.  You  take 
me  into  equal  partnership  in  it,  and  I  '11  be  your 
little  personal  Guide  to  Health  and  Beauty 
until  we've  made  a  job  of  you.  But  you've  got 
to  promise  on  honor  to  keep  up  the  Veyze  myth, 
if  I  'm  to  be  partner  and  half  owner  in  it,  until 
I  agree  to  drop  it.  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

The  light  of  unholy,  reckless  adventure  shot 
into  Darcy's  pale  eyes. 

"It's  a  bargain,"  she  agreed  solemnly. 


Chapter  V 

SUCH  demoniac  attributes  as  Mr.  Andy 
Dunne  might  possess  lurked  in  the  back- 
ground on  the  occasion  of  Darcy's  first  visit. 
Smothering  her  misgivings,  the  girl  had 
mounted  the  steps  of  the  old-fashioned  house 
just  off  Sixth  Avenue,  undistinguished  by  any 
sign  or  symbol  of  the  mystic  activities  within, 
and  presented  Gloria's  letter.  Mr.  Dunne  re- 
vealed himself  as  a  taciturn 'gentleman  in  fu- 
nereal trousers  and  a  blue  sweater,  who  sug- 
gested facially  an  athletic  monk  of  reserved  and 
misanthropic  tendency.  He  led  her  into  a  se- 
verely business-like  office  sparsely  furnished 
with  a  desk  and  two  hard  and  muscular-looking 
chairs,  with  liberal  wall  ornamentations  of 
the  championship  Baltimore  "Orioles"  ("A. 
Dunne,  2d  b."  in  clear  script  on  the  frame), 
pictures  of  Mr.  Dunne  and  other  worthies  in 
sundry  impressive  and  hostile  postures,  and  a 
large  photograph  signed,  with  a  noble  flourish, 
"Yours  truly,  John  L.  Sullivan."  It  was  the 
crowning  glory  of  Mr.  Dunne's  professional 

60 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

career  that  he  had  trained  the  "Big  Feller"  for 
his  final  championship  fight. 

Having  perused  his  former  pupil's  brief 
epistle,  Mr.  Dunne  cast  an  appraising  glance 
over  the  neophyte. 

"Full  course?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  please." 

"How  long?" 

"Six  months." 

The  girl  produced  a  roll  of  bills  and  laid  them 
on  the  desk.  Mr.  Dunne  counted  them  twice. 
With  a  stony  face  and  in  a  highly  correct  hand 
he  made  out  a  receipt. 

"Six  months.  Paid  in  advance,"  he  stated. 
"D'  je  meanter  pay  it  all?" 

"Y-y-yes.  Is  n't  it  usual?"  queried  Darcy, 
wondering  whether  she  was  shattering  some 
conventionality  of  this  unknown  world. 

"Nope.  Three's  usual.  What's  the  big  idea?" 

"Gloria  —  that  is  Miss  Greene  told  me  to  pay 
it  all  in  advance  because  if  I  did  n't  I  might  get 
tired  of  it  and  back  out.  But  I  shan't." 

From  between  Mr.  Dunne's  hard-set  lips 
issued  a  vowel-less  monosyllable  such  as  might 
be  enunciated  by  a  contemplative  bulldog  en- 
gaged in  self-communion. 

61 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Grmph!"  said  Mr.  Dunne,  which,  Darcy 
decided,  might  mean  much  or  little.  "Friend  o' 
Miss  Greene's  ? "  he  inquired  after  a  pause. 

"Yes." 

"Some  lady!"  said  Mr.  Dunne  with  an  ap- 
proach to  enthusiasm  which  Darcy  was  never 
thereafter  to  experience  from  his  repressive 
spirit,  save  only  when  he  spoke  of  the  "Big 
Feller." 

"Is  n't  she  wonderful!"  acquiesced  Darcy. 

Mr.  Dunne  rubbed  his  lower  lip  with  a  remi- 
niscent and  almost  romantic  gleam  in  his  heavy- 
browed  eyes,  and  the  girl  with  difficulty  sup- 
pressed a  query  as  to  whether  that  was  the  spot 
whereon  Gloria  had  landed  her  triumphant  left. 
Emerging  from  his  reverie  he  issued  his  first 
direction.  "Stannup,  please." 

Darcy  rose  and  stood,  consciously  loppish, 
while  the  trainer  circumnavigated  her  twice. 

"Grmph!"  he  grunted.  "When  yah  wanna 
begin?" 

"At  once,  please." 

"Gotta  outfit?" 

"No." 

"Gittit."  He  thrust  a  typed  list  into  her 
hand.  "How  much  you  weigh?" 

62 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  don't  know." 

"Yah  don't  know?" 

"Somewhere  about  a  hundred  and  fifty,  I 
suppose." 

"  Yah  suppose.  Grmph ! "  The  exclamation  was 
replete  with  contempt.  "Come  into  the  shop." 

She  followed  him  into  a  big  airy  room  flooded 
with  overhead  light,  and  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
mechanism.  Obedient  to  a  gesture  she  stepped 
on  the  scales.  Mr.  Dunne  busied  himself  with  a 
careful  adjustment. 

"You'll  strip  a  hunner'n  fifty-two,"  he  de- 
clared. 

Darcy  vaguely  felt  as  if  she  were  being  ac- 
cused of  murder.  She  felt  even  worse  when  the 
iron-faced  Mr.  Dunne  made  an  entry  in  a  little 
notebook. 

"Will  I?"  she  said  faintly. 

"Not  long,"  retorted  the  trainer. 

He  strode  across  the  room  and  set  foot  upon 
a  huge,  ungainly  leather  ball.  It  seemed  but 
the  merest  touch  that  he  gave.  Nevertheless 
the  ball  left  that  spot  hurriedly,  rolled  across  to 
Darcy  and  encountered  her  shins  with  an  im- 
pact that  all  but  crumpled  her  flabby  legs 
beneath  her. 

63 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Know  what  that  is  ? "  demanded  the  trainer. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't." 

"Medicine-ball.  Little  pill.  You'll  like  the 
little  pill." 

Prophetic  voices  within  Darcy  told  her  that 
this  was  improbable:  but  she  mildly  assented. 
The  pulley-weights  were  next  called  to  her 
attention  and  identified. 

"What  do  I  do  with  them?"  she  inquired 
with  a  proper  show  of  interest. 

"Pull  'em  up." 

"I  see.  And  then  what?" 

"Let  'em  down." 

It  seemed  to  Darcy  a  profitless  procedure, 
but  she  wisely  refrained  from  saying  so,  and 
was  glad  that  she  did  when  Mr.  Dunne  added 
in  a  tone  which  emphasized  the  importance  of 
the  transaction: 

"A  coupla  hundred  times." 

Subsequently  the  neophyte  was  introduced 
to  the  dumb-bells,  the  Indian-clubs,  the  rings, 
the  hand-ball  court,  the  rowing-machine  —  she 
earned  a  glance  of  contempt  by  asking  where 
it  rowed  to  —  the  punching-bag,  which  she  dis- 
liked at  sight,  the  finger-grip  roller,  the  station- 
ary bicycle  (which  also  got  you  nowhere),  the 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

boxing-gloves,  and  a  further  bewildering  but 
on  the  whole  inspiriting  array  of  machines  for 
making  one  strong,  happy,  beautiful,  and 
healthy  to  order.  Somewhere  in  the  girl's  con- 
sciousness lurked  a  suspicion  that  the  appara- 
tus could  n't  be  expected  to  do  all  the  work: 
that  there  were  patient  and  perhaps  strenuous 
endeavors  expected  of  the  operator.  But  of  the 
real  rigors  of  the  awaiting  fate  she  had  but  the 
faintest  glimmer. 

As  she  was  leaving,  a  door  bumped  violently 
open  and  there  appeared  in  the  "shop"  a  hor- 
rific female  figure.  It  was  that  of  a  fat  blonde 
with  four  sweaters  on.  Her  cheeks  were  puffy 
red,  her  eyes  jutted  poppily  from  the  sockets, 
and  her  jowls  dripped.  As  a  slave,  treading  the 
unending  grind  of  the  mill,  the  apparition  set 
herself  to  trot  heavily  around  the  circumference 
of  the  room.  And  as  she  ran  she  blubbered. 

"Oh,  poor  thing!"  cried  Darcy  under  her 
breath.  "What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Nothin',"  said  Mr.  Dunne  indifferently. 

"But  there  must  be  something,"  insisted  the 
newcomer  aghast. 

"Fat,"  vouchsafed  Mr.  Dunne.  "They 
mostly  take  it  hard  —  at  the  start,"  he  con- 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

descended  to  add.  "She's  only  been  at  it  a 
month." 

A  month!  Darcy's  heart  sank  within  her.  She 
began  to  see  why  Gloria  had  insisted  on  a  bind- 
ing prepayment.  Did  Gloria,  splendid,  vigorous 
Gloria,  have  to  go  through  that  stage?  Was  this 
the  inevitable  purgatory  through  which  all 
flesh  must  pass  to  reach  the  goal?  Could  she, 
Darcy,  conscious  of  flaccidity  of  body  and 
spirit,  endure  — 

"Tomorra  at  three,"  cut  in  Mr.  Dunne's 
brusque  tones. 

Impersonal  and  coldly  business-like  though 
Andy  Dunne  might  appear  to  the  apprehensive 
novice,  he  was  an  artist  in  his  line,  and  took  a 
conscientious  interest  in  his  clients.  Inspired 
thereby,  he  called  up  Gloria  Greene  and  re- 
quested information. 

"Spoiled  child,"  was  the  diagnosis  which  he 
received  over  the  'phone. 

"Fool  parents?"  he  inquired. 

"No." 

"Rich  feller?" 

"Nothing  of  that  sort." 

"What's  spoilt  her,  then?" 

"She's  spoilt  herself." 

66 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"That's  bad." 

"But  she  does  n't  know  it." 

"That's  worse." 

"So  I  Ve  sent  her  to  you,  Andy."  And  Gloria 
outlined  her  hopeful  programme  for  Darcy. 

"Grmph!"  snorted  the  trainer.  "Will  she 
stand  the  gaff,  d'  yah  think?" 

"She'll  have  to,"  chuckled  Gloria.  "If  she 
does  n't,  let  me  know.  I  Ve  got  a  hold  over 
her." 

The  mere  process  of  purchasing  has  an  in- 
spiriting effect  upon  the  feminine  psychology. 
By  the  time  Darcy  had  acquired  her  simple 
gymnasium  outfit,  her  fears  were  forgotten  in 
optimism.  With  such  appropriate  clothes  the 
experiment  must  be  a  success!  Proudly  she 
arrayed  herself  in  them,  upon  arrival  at  Mr. 
Andy  Dunne's  academy  at  the  hour  set;  the 
close-fitting,  rather  scratchy  tights,  the  scant 
and  skirtless  trousers,  the  light  canvas  shoes, 
the  warmly  enveloping  sweater,  and  the  rubber 
cap  to  keep  her  hair  from  interfering  with  her 
exertions.  Thus  appareled,  Darcy  quite  es- 
teemed herself  as  an  athlete.  She  could  already 
feel  her  muscular  potentialities  developing  be- 
neath the  rough,  stimulant  cloth.  She  thought 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

lightly  of  the  various  apparatus  awaiting  her 
in  the  "shop";  playthings  of  her  coming  prow- 
ess. She  would  show  Mr.  Andy  Dunne  what  an 
apt  and  earnest  devotee  of  the  vigorous  life 
could  achieve.  Thus  uplifted  she  went  forth 
with  a  confident  smile  to  meet  the  man  who, 
for  weary  months,  was  to  fill  a  large  part  of  her 
life. 

At  sight  of  her  Mr.  Dunne,  schooled  though 
he  was  in  self-restraint,  barely  suppressed  a 
groan  of  pained  surprise.  That  garb  which  had 
so  pleased  Darcy,  however  much  it  may  have 
been  an  inspiration  to  her,  was  a  revelation  to 
the  dismayed  eyes  of  her  instructor.  To  Gloria 
Greene,  one  of  the  few  people  with  whom  he 
forgot  his  reticence,  he  afterwards  made  his 
little  plaint. 

"If  they're  fat,  I  can  sweat  'em.  If  they're 
skinny,  I  can  pad  'em  with  muscle.  But  this 
squab,  she's  fat  and  skinny  all  in  the  wrong 
places." 

Half  hopeful  that  he  might  discover  some  dis- 
abling symptom,  he  tested  her  heart  and  her 
breathing.  All  was  normal.  He  noted  her  yellow- 
ish eyes,  her  sallow  skin,  the  beginning  of  a 
fold  under  her  chin,  the  slackness  of  her  posture. 

68 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"How  old  are  yah  ? "  he  demanded. 

"Just  twenty-one." 

"Grmph!"  barked  Mr.  Dunne,  in  a  tone 
which  unflatteringly  suggested  surprise,  but 
also  relief.  "Well  we  gotta  getta  work." 

How  pleasurable  was  that  hour's  exercise  to 
Darcy !  With  what  delight  did  her  unforeboding 
spirit  take  to  the  ways  of  a  hardy  athleticism ! 
Never  could  she  have  imagined  it  so  easy.  No 
sooner  was  she  weary  of  one  kind  of  a  trial, 
dumb-bells,  Indian-clubs,  or  pulleys,  than, 
when  her  breath  began  to  come  short,  the 
watchful  instructor  stopped  her  and,  after  a 
rest,  set  her  to  something  else.  Her  skin  pricked 
and  glowed  beneath  the  close  but  unrestricting 
suit.  Little  drops  of  moisture  came  out  on  her 
face  and  were  gayly  brushed  away.  She  could 
feel  herself  breathing  deeper,  her  blood  run- 
ning faster  and  fuller  in  her  veins,  her  muscles 
suppling  along  the  bones.  She  hurled  the  medi- 
cine-ball with  fervor.  She  attacked  the  punch- 
ing-bag  with  ferocity.  She  swung  at  the  elusive 
little  hand-ball  with  a  violence  unhampered  by 
any  sense  of  direction.  From  time  to  time  she 
threw  a  glance,  hopefully  inviting  approval,  at 
the  stonily  watchful  visage  of  Mr.  Andy  Dunne. 

69 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

The  approval  did  not  manifest  itself.  Darcy, 
had  she  but  known  it,  was  going  through  that 
schedule  of  the  mildest  type  known  derisively 
to  Andy's  academy  as  "the  consumptive's 
stunt."  At  the  conclusion  of  a  trot  three  times 
around  the  room  which  she  conceived  herself 
as  performing  with  a  light  and  springy  step 
("like  a  three-legged  goat"  was  Mr.  Dunne's 
mental  comparison),  that  gentleman  said, 
"Nuff,"  a  word  which  later  was  to  rank  in  his 
pupil's  consciousness  as  the  one  assuaging  thing 
in  an  agonized  world.  The  regulation  first-day's- 
end  catechism  then  took  place. 

"How  d' yah  feel?" 

"Fine!"  ' 

"'s  good!  Lame?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Yah '11  stiffen  up  later.  Don't  let  it  bother 
yah.  Hot  bath  in  the  morning." 

"All  right." 

"Same  time  day  after  tomorra."  He  busied 
himself  replacing  the  deranged  apparatus. 
"How's  the  appetite?"  he  asked  carelessly. 

"It  has  n't  been  so  very  good." 

"No?  Try  it  on  this." 

"Diet  for  Miss  D.  Cole,"  was  typed  across 
70 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  top  of  a  meager-looking  list  of  edibles  and 
what  that  young  lady  would  have  considered 
inedibles,  which  she  found  herself  conning. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  inquired  dismally. 

"Take  as  much  as  yah  want  of  it,"  returned 
Mr.  Dunne  generously. 

"But — I  mean  —  it  doesn't  look  very 
nice." 

"The  Big  Feller  trained  on  it,"  observed  the 
other  with  an  air  of  finality.  "What's  wrong 
with  it?" 

"Why  — •  why  —  it's  —  well  — •  monoto- 
nous," explained  the  girl.  "There  is  n't  a  sweet 
thing  in  it.  No  cakes.  No  desserts.  Not  even 
ice-cream.  Why  can't  I  have  a  little  sweets?" 

"Because,"  answered  Mr.  Dunne,  "yah  got 
creases  in  your  stomach." 

Darcy  started.  "No!  Have  I?"  she  asked, 
vaguely  alarmed  as  to  what  profound  digestive 
catastrophe  that  might  portend. 

"Well,  haven't  yah?  About  there  —  and 
there  —  and  prob'ly  there."  Mr.  Dunne  drew 
an  illustrative  and  stubby  forefinger  thrice 
vertically  across  his  own  flat  abdomen.  "Look 
to-night  and  yah '11  see  'em." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Darcy,  turning  fiery  red,  for 

71 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

it  is  one  of  our  paradoxical  conventions  that  a 
young  lady  may  discuss  the  inside  of  her  stom- 
ach without  shame,  but  not  the  outside. 

Mr.  Dunne  regarded  the  blush  with  disfavor. 

"Look-a-here,"  he  said  bluntly.  "Yah 
need  n't  get  rattled." 

"But  —  I  —  I  —  did  n't  — " 

"Cut  the  school-girl  stuff.  Yah'r  my  pupil. 
I'm  yahr  trainer.  That's  all  there  is  to  it,  if 
we're  going  to  get  along  comfortable.  Get  me?" 

"Yes,"  said  Darcy.  "I  won't  be  silly  again. 
And  I  '11  try  and  mind  the  diet." 

Vastly  to  her  surprise  and  gratification,  the 
neophyte  arose  on  the  following  morning  with- 
out severe  symptoms  of  lameness.  Here  and 
there  an  unsuspected  muscle  had  awakened  to 
life  and  to  mild  protest  over  the  resurrection. 
But  on  the  whole  Darcy  felt  none  the  worse  for 
her  experience.  She  began  to  surmise  that  she 
was  one  of  that  physically  blessed  class,  a  born 
athlete.  If  beauty,  vigor,  and  health  were  to  be 
achieved  at  no  harder  a  price  than  this,  they 
were  almost  like  a  gift  of  the  good  fairies.  The 
only  unusual  phenomena  she  observed  as  a  re- 
sult of  her  introspection  were  a  lack  of  interest 
in  her  food,  which  she  set  down  to  the  discredit 

72 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

of  the  diet,  and  a  tendency  to  fall  asleep  over 
her  work.  She  went  to  bed  early  that  night, 
quite  looking  forward  to  the  morrow's  exercise. 
Nature  has  a  stock  practical  joke  which  she 
plays  on  the  physically  negligent  when  they  be- 
gin training.  Instead  of  inflicting  muscular  re- 
morse on  the  morning  after,  she  lets  the  bill  run 
for  another  twenty-four  hours  and  then  pounces 
upon  the  victim  with  an  astounding  accumu- 
lation of  painful  arrears.  Opening  her  eyes  on 
that  second  day  after  Mr.  Dunne's  mild  but 
sufficient  schedule  —  the  one  muscular  move- 
ment she  was  able  to  make  without  acute  agony 
• — Darcy  became  cognizant  that  every  hinge 
in   her  body  had   rusted.    She   attempted  to 
swing  her  legs  out  of  bed,  and  stuck,  with  her 
feet  projecting  out  from  the  clothes,  paralyzed 
and  groaning.  From  the  bedroom  next  to  Dar- 
cy's  alcove,  Helen  Barrett  heard  the  sounds  of 
lamentation  and  tottered  drowsily  in. 
"What  ever  is  the  matter,  Darcy?" 
"  I  can't  get  up  "  moaned  the  victim. 
"What  is  it?  Are  you  ill?" 
"No!  No!  I'm  all  right.  Only—" 
"Get  your  legs  back  in  bed."  The  kindly 
Helen  thrust  back  the  protruding  limbs,  thereby 

73 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

wringing  from  the  sufferer  a  muffled  shriek 
which  brought  Maud  Raines  to  the  scene. 

"It's  rheumatism,  I  think,"  explained  Helen 
to  the  newcomer.  "Or  else  paralysis." 

"It  is  n't,"  denied  Darcy  indignantly. 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

Racked  by  all  manner  of  darting  pains  and 
convulsive  cramps,  Darcy  began  the  cautious 
process  of  emerging  from  bed.  "Do  be  good — • 
ugh!"  she  implored.  "And  don't  — ooch! — • 
ask  questions  —  and  draw  me  a  boiling  hot 
bath  —  ow-w-w !  —  and  help  me  into  it  —  oh- 
h-h-h  —  dear!" 

Greatly  wondering  they  followed  the  suffer- 
er's directions,  got  her  duly  en-tubbed,  and  en- 
sconced themselves  outside  the  door,  which  they 
left  carefully  ajar  for  explanations.  All  they  got 
for  this  maneuver  was  an  avowal  of  the  bather's 
firm  intention  of  spending  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
the  mollifying  water. 

"If  you  want  to  be  really  nice,"  she  added, 
"you  might  bring  my  coffee  and  rolls  to  me 
here." 

"Well,  really!"  said  Maud  indignantly,  for 
this  was  a  reversal  of  the  normal  order  of  things 
in  Bachelor-Girls'  Hall.  As  the  homely  member 

74 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

of  an  otherwise  attractive  trio,  Darcy  had  been, 
by  common  consent,  constituted  the  meek  and 
unprotesting  servitor  of  the  other  two.  Thus  do 
relics  of  Orientalism  persist  among  the  most  in- 
dependent race  of  women  known  to  history. 

Darcy  accepted  the  rebuff.  "  It  does  n't  mat- 
ter," said  she,  with  a  quaver  of  self-pity.  "  I 
can't  have  coffee.  I  can't  have  hot  rolls.  I  can't 
have  anything." 

Her  two  mates  exchanged  glances.  "Darcy, 
you  Ve  got  to  see  a  doctor." 

"I  have  n't!  I  won't!" 

"But  if  you  can't  move  and  can't  eat  — " 

"I'm  much  better  now.  Really  I  am,"  de- 
clared the  other,  alarmed  at  the  threat  of  a  phy- 
sician, who  might  suspect  the  truth  and  give 
her  away  to  the  others.  "I  'm  going  to  dress." 

Which  she  did,  at  the  price  of  untold  pangs. 
Breakfast  passed  in  a  succession  of  question- 
ing silences  and  suspicious  glances,  but  Darcy 
guarded  her  tongue.  To  reveal  the  facts  and 
what  lay  behind  them  would  be  only  to  invite 
discouragement  and  dissuasion  if  not  actual 
ridicule.  After  the  frugal  and  tasteless  ordeal 
of  hominy  without  sugar,  followed  by  one  egg 
without  butter,  she  limped  into  the  front  room 

75 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

and  set  herself  doggedly  to  the  elaboration  of  a 
new  design  for  B.  Riegel  &  Sons.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  legacy,  she  could  not  afford  to  neglect 
the  economic  side  of  life  whilst  fostering  the 
physical.  Her  special  course  in  the  development 
of  charm,  via  the  muscle-and-sinew  route,  she 
perceived,  was  going  to  take  longer  than  she 
had  foreseen.  Already  she  felt  that  the  schedule 
ought  to  be  radically  relaxed.  Her  unfitness  to 
take  the  lesson  set  for  that  afternoon  was  obvi- 
ous. Next  week,  perhaps  —  though,  on  the 
whole,  she  inclined  to  the  belief  that  she  should 
have  about  ten  days  to  recuperate. 

She  would  write  to  Mr.  Dunne  and  explain. 
No;  she  would  telephone  him.  Better  still,  she 
would  go  up  to  the  Academy  of  Tortures  in 
person  and  exhibit  to  the  proprietor's  remorse- 
ful eyes  the  piteous  wreck  which  he  had  made 
of  her  blithe  young  girlhood. 

She  went.  Mr.  Andy  Dunne  regarded  the 
piteous  wreck  without  outward  and  visible 
signs  of  distress. 

"Yah  got  five  minutes,"  he  remarked  emo- 
tionlessly,  glancing  at  the  clock. 

"I  can't  possibly  go  on  to-day,"  said  Darcy 
firmly. 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"No?" 

"Every  bone  in  my  body  creaks.  I  have  n't 
got  a  muscle  that  is  n't  sore.  I  ache  in  places 
that  I  did  n't  even  know  I  had.  Why,  Mr. 
Dunne,"  she  declared  impressively,  as  a  con- 
clusion to  the  painful  inventory,  "if  I  tried  to 
go  through  those  exercises  again  to-day,  I'd 
die!" 

"Grmph!"  said  Mr.  Dunne,  indicating  that 
he  was  unimpressed. 

"I  c-c-c-can't  do  it  and  I  won't!"  said  Darcy, 
like  a  very  naughty  child. 

"Yah  paid  me  three  hundr'n  sixty  dollars, 
did  n't  yah?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Darcy,  her  heart  sinking,  at 
the  recollection  of  the  sum  which  she  had  in- 
vested in  assorted  agonies. 

"Did  yah  think  that  was  going  to  buy  yah 
what  yah  'rafter?" 

Darcy  gulped  dismally. 

"It  ain't.  Money  can't  buy  it.  Yah  gotta 
have  gu —  grit."  Mr.  Dunne  achieved  the 
timely  amendment  in  the  middle  of  the  stronger 
qualification. 

Darcy's  mind  went  back  to  Gloria  Greene's 
preachment  upon  the  text  of  "grit":  "You 

77 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

don't  know  what  the  word  means,  yet."  Appar- 
ently she  was  in  a  fair  way  to  find  out. 

"Two  minutes  gone,"  announced  the  train- 
er's inexorable  voice. 

How  she  did  it  she  never  knew.  But  under 
impulsion  of  the  sterner  will,  she  got  into  her 
gymnasium  suit  and  was  on  the  floor  only  three 
minutes  past  the  hour.  The  apparatus  which 
she  had  at  first  encountered  with  so  much  inter- 
est and  curiosity  now  had  a  sinister  effect  of 
lying  in  wait  like  the  implements  of  a  dentist's 
office.  She  speculated,  with  a  shrinking  of  her 
whole  frame,  upon  which  one  would  be  selected 
as  the  agency  of  the  initial  agony.  Giving  them 
not  so  much  as  a  look,  Mr.  Andy  Dunne  led 
her  to  a  large,  rough  mat  and  bade  her  stretch 
out  on  her  back. 

"Lift  the  left  foot  in  the  air,"  he  directed. 

Darcy  did  so,  with  caution. 

"Higher!"  said  Mr.  Dunne. 

"Oo-yee!"  lamented  Darcy. 

"Back.  Lift  the  right  foot  in  the  air." 

Darcy  obeyed  without  enthusiasm. 

"Higher!"  said  Mr.  Dunne. 

"Ow-z^oo;/"  mourned  Darcy. 

"Back.  Lift  both  feet  in  the  air." 

78 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  can't!"  said  Darcy. 

"Yah  gotta!"  said  Mr.  Dunne. 

Two  wavering,  quivering  legs  rose  slowly 
from  the  mat,  attained  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees,  and  dropped  back  to  earth  with  a  thud. 
Their  owner  had  been  forcibly  reminded  of  the 
three  creases  in  her  stomach  by  the  fact  that 
they  had  unanimously  set  to  writhing  and 
grinding  upon  each  other  in  fiery  convolutions 
of  protest,  resultant  upon  the  unwonted  angle 
of  the  legs. 

"Higher!"  commanded  the  pitiless  Mr. 
Dunne. 

"Can't!" 

"Gotta!" 

With  a  spasmodic  heave,  the  victim  attained 
perhaps  fifty  degrees  of  elevation,  and  straight- 
ened out,  gasping.  Next  her  instructor  had  her 
sit  up  erect  from  a  flat  position,  without  aid 
from  hands  or  elbows,  whereat  all  the  muscles 
in  her  back,  thighs,  and  abdomen,  hitherto  un- 
awakened,  roused  themselves  and  yelled  in 
chorus.  Then  he  had  her  repeat  the  whole 
devastating  process  from  the  first  before  he 
spoke  the  word  of  reprieve. 

"Nuff!" 

79 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Darcy  rolled  over  on  her  face  and  lay  panting. 

"Howd'  yah  feel?" 

"Awful!"  gasped  Darcy. 

"Still  a  bit  stiff?" 

"Abit!Oh-h-h-h!" 

"Then  we'll  do  it  all  again,"  said  Mr.  Dunne 
cheerfully.  "No thin'  like  light  exercise  to  loosen 
up  the  human  frame." 

For  that  "light"  Darcy  could  cheerfully 
have  slain  him.  Nobody  since  the  world  began, 
she  felt  convinced,  neither  gladiator  of  the 
classic  arena  nor  the  mighty  John  L.  himself, 
had  ever  undergone  such  a  fearsome  grilling 
and  lived.  And  now  there  was  more  to  come. 
Over  the  twistings  and  turnings,  the  arm- 
flexures,  the  hoppings  and  skippings,  the  ting- 
ling of  the  outraged  muscles,  the  panting  of  the 
overtaxed  lungs,  let  us  draw  a  kindly  curtain. 

When  the  horrid  hour  was  over,  Darcy  in 
her  cold  shower  felt  numb.  Whether  she  could 
ever  manage  to  get  home  on  her  own  disjointed 
feet  seemed  doubtful.  But  she  did.  She  went  to 
bed  at  eight  o'clock  that  night,  having  eaten 
almost  nothing,  in  the  firm  conviction  that  she 
never  would  be  able  to  get  up  in  the  morning 
without  help,  and  probably  not  with  it! 

80 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Sleep  such  as  she  had  not  known  in  years  sub- 
merged her.  Roused  late  by  her  companions, 
she  moved  first  an  arm,  then  a  leg,  tentatively. 
No  penalty  attached  to  the  experiment.  With  a 
low,  anticipatory  groan  she  sat  up  slowly  in 
bed.  The  groan  was  a  case  of  crying  before  she 
was  hurt.  She  began  to  feel  herself  cautiously 
all  over.  Her  skin  was  a  little  tender  to  the 
touch,  and  she  noted  with  interest  that  the 
blood  ran  impetuously  to  whatever  spot  on 
the  surface  her  exploring  fingers  pressed.  But 
of  that  crippling  lameness,  that  feeling  of  the 
whole  bodily  mechanism  being  racked  and 
rusted,  there  remained  only  a  trace.  In  its  place 
was  left  a  new  variety  of  pang  which  Darcy 
pleasantly  identified.  She  was  ravenously  hun- 
gry- 
Maud  Raines  observed  to  Helen  Barrett 
after  breakfast  that  any  one  who  could  bolt 
plain  oatmeal  the  way  Darcy  did  must  have 
the  appetite  of  a  pig,  and  no  wonder  she  was 
fat  and  slobby.  But  Andy  Dunne,  calling  up 
Gloria  to  report  progress,  thus  delivered  his 
opinion : 

"You  know  that  squab  you  sent  me,  Miss 
Greene?" 

8l 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Yes." 

"She  wanted  to  quit." 

"No!  Did  she  do  it?" 

"I  bluffed  her  out  of  it.  And  say,  Miss 
Greene!" 

"Yes,  Andy." 

"There  may  be  something  to  that  kid." 

"Glad  you  think  so." 

Said  Andy  Dunne,  expert  on  the  human  race 
slowly,  consideringly,  and  more  prophetically 
than  he  knew: 

"I  kinda  think  there's  fighting  stuff  some- 
wheres  under  that  fat." 


Chapter  VI 

HAD  Andy  Dunne's  surmise  been  laid  be- 
fore Darcy,  it  might  have  brought  sorely 
needed  encouragement  to  her  soul  as  the  re- 
generative process  went  on.  True  she  had  pres- 
ently passed  the  first  crisis  which  athletic  regi- 
men develops  for  the  untrained,  and  which  is 
purely  muscular.  She  no  longer  swung  to  and 
fro,  a  helpless  pendulum,  between  the  agonies 
of  apprehension  and  the  anguish  of  action.  The 
steady  exercise  was  telling  in  so  far  as  her 
muscles  were  concerned;  she  had  still  to  face 
the  test  of  discipline.  In  this  second  and  sterner 
crisis,  Andy  Dunne  could  help  her  but  little. 
It  was  a  question  of  her  own  power  of  will,  a 
will  grown  slack  and  flabby  from  lack  of  exer- 
cise. Ahead  of  her  loomed,  only  dimly  discerned 
as  yet,  the  ordeal  of  strenuous  monotony;  the 
deadly-dull,  prolonged  grind  wherein  endur- 
ance, as  it  hardens,  is  subjected  to  a  constantly 
harsher  strain,  until  the  soul  revolts  as,  in  the 
earlier  stage,  the  body  had  rebelled. 

A  subject  like  Gloria  Greene,  high  and  fine 
of  spirit,  the  sage  Mr.  Dunne  could  have  eased 

83 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

through  the  difficult  phase  by  appeals  to  her 
pride  and  to  the  sense  of  partnership  which  the 
successful  trainer  must  establish  between  him- 
self and  his  pupil.  With  Darcy  this  was  imprac- 
ticable because  Andy  Dunne,  as  he  would  have 
admitted  with  a  regretful  grin,  was  "in  wrong." 
Darcy  enthusiastically  hated  him. 

At  first  sight  she  had  estimated  him  as  a  stern 
spirit.  Through  successive  changes  that  reckon- 
ing had  been  altered  to  "harsh,"  then  "brutal," 
and  now  "Satanic."  Gloria's  judgment  of  her 
note  of  introduction  as  "a  commutation  ticket 
to  Hades,  first  class,"  was  amply  borne  out. 

Professionally  Mr.  Dunne's  discourse  tended 
ever  to  the  hortatory  and  corrective.  He  was  a 
master  of  the  verbal  rowel. 

"Keep  it  up!"  "Again!"  "Ah-h-h,  put  some 
punch  in  it!"  "Yah  ain't  haff  trying!"  "Go 
wan!  Yah  gotta  do  better 'n  'at!"  And,  occa- 
sionally, "Rotten!" 

Worse  still  was  a  manner  he  had  of  regarding 
her  with  an  expression  of  mild  and  regretful 
wonder  whilst  giving  voice  to  his  bulldoggish 
"Grmph!"  in  a  tone  indicating  only  too  plainly 
that  never  before  was  conscientious  trainer  so 
bored  and  afflicted  with  such  an  utterly  incom- 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

petent,  inefficient,  and  generally  hopeless  sub- 
ject as  the  daily  withering  Darcy. 

In  lighter  moments  he  would  regale  her  with 
reminiscences  of  the  Big  Feller  and  his  eccen- 
tricities in  and  insubordinations  under  training, 
while  Darcy  would  lie,  panting  and  spent,  on 
the  hard  floor,  wondering  regretfully  why  the 
Big  Feller  had  n't  killed  Mr.  Dunne  when  op- 
portunities must  have  been  so  plentiful.  Then, 
just  as  her  labored  breathing  would  begin  to 
ease,  the  taskmaster  in  Mr.  Dunne  would 
awaken,  the  call  "Time"  would  sound  like 
doom  to  her  ears,  and  she  would  set  to  it  again, 
arching  on  her  back,  rolling  on  her  stomach 
(where  the  three  creases  were  beginning  to 
flatten),  yanking  at  overweighted  pulleys,  inter- 
minably skipping  a  loathly  rope,  standing  up 
like  a  dumb  ten-pin  before  the  ponderous  medi- 
cine-ball which  Mr.  Dunne  hurled  at  her, 
punching  at  an  elusive  and  too  often  vengeful 
bag,  rowing  an  imaginary  boat  against  wind, 
wave,  and  every  dictate  of  her  weary  body, 
and  finally  running  silly  circles  around  the 
room  like  a  demented  cat,  until  the  monitor 
uttered  the  one,  lone  word  of  pity  in  his  inquisi- 
torial vocabulary:  "NufT!" 

85 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Had  all  this  deep-wrung  sweat  of  brow  and 
soul  produced  any  definable  effect,  Darcy  could 
have  borne  it  with  a  resigned  spirit.  It  did  n't. 
Four  times  a  week  she  went  through  the  hide- 
ous grind,  and  nothing  happened.  Each  night 
she  went  to  bed  early  and  after  profound  sleep 
had  to  get  up  out  of  the  cuddly  warmth  into 
a  shudderingly  cold  bath  —  and  nothing  hap- 
pened. She  gave  up  the  before-dinner  cocktail 
and  with  it  what  little  zest  she  had  for  -her 
deadly  plain  diet  —  and  nothing  happened. 
She  denied  her  sweet  tooth  so  much  as  one  little 
bite  of  candy  • —  oh,  but  that  was  a  bitter  depri- 
vation —  and  nothing  happened.  To  her  regi- 
men at  the  gymnasium  she  added  a  stint  of 
simple  but  violent  house  exercises  on  of!  days 

—  and  nothing  happened.  Life,  which  she  had 
supposed,  in  her  first  flush  of  hopeful  enthusi- 
asm for  the  new  regime,  would  be  one  grand, 
sweet  song,  was,  in  fact,  one  petty,  sour  discord 

—  wherein  nothing  happened.  This  was  quite 
right  and  logical,  had  Darcy  but  known  it. 
Layers  of  fat,  physical  and  moral,  accumulated 
through  years  of  self-coddling,  are  not  worked 
off  in  a  week  or  a  month. 

There  came  a  day  when  something  did  hap- 
86 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

pen.  There  always  does.  It  was  not  of  that  order 
of  occurrences  which  can  be  foreseen  by  the 
expert  eye.  It  seldom  is.  Andy  Dunne,  honestly 
and  simply  intent  on  earning  his  money,  had  been 
unusually  exigent.  Besides,  Darcy  had  a  nail  in 
her  shoe.  Besides,  Mr.  Riegel  had  been  curtly 
critical  of  her  latest  and  most  original  design  as 
"new-fangled."  Besides,  Maud  was  becoming 
satirically  curious  as  to  where  she  was  spending 
so  many  afternoons.  Besides,  it  was  a  rotten 
day.  There  was  no  light  on  earth  or  in  heaven ! 

"What's  the  use  of  it  all,  anyway!"  thought 
Darcy  to  herself,  for  perhaps  the  fiftieth  time, 
but  rather  more  fervently  than  before. 

As  if  in  exasperation  of  her  agnostic  mood, 
the  preceptor,  in  the  half-time  intermission, 
had  suggested  not  less,  but  more  work ! 

"Yah'r  gettin'  stale,"  observed  Mr.  Dunne, 
which  Darcy  thought  a  hopeful  beginning. 

"I  feel  so,"  she  said. 

"There's  a  clock,"  Mr.  Dunne  informed  her, 
"at  Fifty-Ninth  and  Eighth." 

Darcy  waited. 

"There 's  another  at  a  Hundred 'n  Tenth  and 
Seventh,"  pursued  the  chronometrical  Mr. 
Dunne,  and  fell  into  calculating  thought. 

8? 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Darcy  waited  again. 

"Yah  leave  Fifty-Ninth  at  4.20  P.M." 

"When?" 

"Mondays,  Wednesdays,  and  Fridays." 

"Oh!"  said  Darcy  blankly. 

"And  yah  get  to  a  Hundred 'n-Tenth  in  time 
to  hear  that  clock  strike  5." 

"What!  Walk?  Nearly  three  miles  in  forty 
minutes  ? " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Dunne  thoughtfully. 

"Then,  how— " 

"Yah'd  better  run  part  way,  or  yah  won't 
make  it  on  time." 

"You  want  to  kill  me!"  declared  the  petu- 
lant and  self-pitying  Darcy. 

"Grmph!"  said  Mr.  Dunne. 

"Suppose  it  rains?"  put  forth  Darcy  desper- 
ately. 

"Then  yah '11  get  wet,"  was  Mr.  Dunne's 
reasonable  answer. 

"And  catch  my  death  riding  back  in  the 
bus." 

"Don't  ride.  Walk.  I'm  giving  this  to  yah 
for  fresh  air." 

"But  Mr.  Dunne— " 

"Time!" 

88 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

It  may  have  been  this  fresh  grievance  which 
lay  heavy  upon  Darcy's  chest,  clogging  her 
breathing  and  slowing  her  suppled  muscles. 
She  was  conscious  of  doing  less  well  than  usual 
—  and  of  not  caring,  either!  The  medicine-ball 
was  heavier  and  more  unwieldy  than  ever.  The 
punching-bag,  instinct  with  a  demoniac  vital- 
ity, came  back  at  her  on  a  new  schedule  and 
bumped  her  nose  violently,  a  mortifying  inci- 
dent which  had  not  occurred  since  the  first 
week.  The  despicable  little  hand-ball,  propelled 
by  her  trainer,  bounded  just  a  fraction  of  an 
inch  out  of  her  straining  reach,  and  when  she 
did  hit  it,  felt  as  soggy  as  sand  and  as  hard  as 
rock  and  raised  stone-bruises  on  her  hands.  She 
even  pinched  her  thumb  in  the  rowing-machine, 
which  is  the  zenith  of  inexpertness.  With  every 
fresh  mishap  she  became  more  self-piteous  and 
resentful  and  reckless.  Andy,  the  Experienced, 
would  have  ascribed  all  this  to  that  common 
if  obscure  phenomenon,  an  "off  day,"  familiar 
to  every  professor  whether  of  integral  calculus 
or  the  high  trapeze.  Then  the  dreadful  thing 
happened,  and  he  revised  his  opinion. 

The  last,  and  therefore  worst,  five  minutes 
of  the  grind  had  come.  Darcy  lay  on  the  mat 

89 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

going  through  the  loathed  body-and-limb-lifting 
while  Andy  Dunne  exhorted  her  to  speed  up. 

"Now  the  legs.  Come  on.  Hup!" 

Something  in  Darcy  went  on  strike. 

"Can't,"  she  said. 

"Grmph!  What's  matter?" 

"Won't!"  said  Darcy. 

From  the  corner  of  a  hot  and  rebellious  eye 
she  could  see  overspreading  her  trainer's  face 
that  familiar  expression  of  contemptuous  and 
weary  patience.  Anything  else  she  could  have 
stood.  But  that  —  that  was  the  spark  that  fired 
the  powder.  Stooping  over,  the  trainer  laid 
hold,  none  too  gently,  on  one  inert  heel. 

Heaven  and  earth  reversed  themselves  for 
Mr.  Andy  Dunne.  Also  day  and  night,  for  a 
galaxy  of  stars  appeared  and  circulated  before 
his  mazed  eyes.  The  walls  and  the  ceiling  joined 
in  the  whirl,  to  which  an  end  was  set  by  the 
impact  of  the  floor  against  the  back  of  his  head. 
For  one  brief,  sweet,  romantic  moment  Andy 
Dunne  was  back  in  the  training-ring  with  the 
Big  Feller  and  that  venerated  and  mulish  right 
had  landed  one  on  his  jaw.  But  why,  oh,  why, 
should  the  mighty  John  L.  thereupon  burst  into 
hysterical  sobbing?  And  if  it  was  n't  the  Big 

90 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Feller,  who  was  it  making  those  grievous 
noises  ? 

Mr.  Dunne  sat  up,  viewed  a  huddled,  girlisk 
form  trying  unsuccessfully  to  burrow  headfore- 
most out  of  sight  in  the  hard  mat,  and  came  to 
a  realization  of  the  awful  fact.  With  all  the  force 
of  her  newly  acquired  leg  muscles,  the  meek 
Miss  Cole  had  landed  a  galvanic  kick  on  his 
unprotected  chin.  For  a  moment  he  stared  in 
stupefaction.  Then  he  arose  and  went  quietly 
forth  into  his  own  place,  where  he  sat  on  a  chair 
and  rubbed  his  chin  and  thought,  and  pres- 
ently began  to  chuckle, -and  kept  it  up  until 
the  chuckle  grew  into  a  laugh  which  shook  his 
tough  frame  more  violently  than  had  the  un- 
expected assault. 

"Well,  I  am  d d!"  said  Mr.  Dunne.  "The 

little  son-of-a-gun ! " 

Meanwhile  Darcy  lay  curled  up  like  a  quak- 
ing armadillo.  Probably  Andy  Dunne  would 
kill  her.  She  did  n't  much  care.  Life  was  n't 
worth  living,  anyhow.  She  was  through.  The 
one  pleasant  impression  of  her  whole  disastrous 
gymnasium  experience  was  the  impact  of  her 
heel  against  that  contemptuous  chin. 

She  opened  one  eye.  Andy  Dunne  was  not 

91 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

where  he  should  have  landed  as  the  result  of 
the  revolution  which  he  had  been  performing 
when  he  whirled  from  her  view.  She  opened  the 
other  eye.  Andy  Dunne  was  not  anywhere.  He 
had  vanished  into  nothingness. 

With  all  the  sensation  of  a  criminal,  Darcy 
rose,  dressed,  and  fled.  She  fled  straight  to 
Gloria  Greene.  That  industrious  person  was, 
as  usual,  at  work,  and  as  usual  found  time  to 
hear  Darcy's  troubles.  What  she  heard  was 
gaspy  and  fragmentary. 

"Gloria,  I've  done  an  awful  thing!" 

"What?  Out  with  it,"  commanded  the 
actress. 

"I  ki-ki-ki  —  I  can't  tell  you,"  gulped 
Darcy.  "Mr.  Dunne — I  mean,  I  ki-ki-ki — " 

"Yes,"  encouraged  Gloria.  "What  awful 
thing  have  you  done  to  Andy  Dunne?  Kissed 
him?" 

"No!  Worse." 

"Oh!  You  ki-ki-killed  him,  I  suppose," 
twinkled  Gloria. 

"I  don't  know.  I  hope  so.  I  ki-ki-kicked  him. 
I  kicked  him  good!" 

"Darcy!  Where?" 

"On  the  chin." 

92 


Wanted:  A  Husband 


"What  did  he  do?" 
"  Disappeared." 


"Do  I  understand  that  you  kicked  him  into 
microscopical  pieces?" 

"Don't  laugh  at  me,  Gloria.  It's  very,  very 


serious." 


"It  sounds  so." 

"I'm  done  with  it.  Forever." 

"Done  with  what?" 

"The  gymnasium.  The  diet.  Andy  Dunne. 
Everything." 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not." 

"I  am!  /  am!  I  YAM!"  declared  Darcy  with 
progressive  petulance.  "I've  been  torturing 
myself  for  nothing.  It  has  n't  made  a  bit  of 
difference.  Look  at  me!" 

Gloria  looked  and  with  difficulty  concealed  a 
smile  of  satisfaction.  For,  to  her  expert  eyes, 
there  was  a  difference,  a  marked  difference,  still 
submerged  but  obvious,  beneath  the  surface,  in 
movements  which,  formerly  sluggish,  were  now 
brisk  and  supple,  in  a  clear  eye,  and  a  skin 
which  seemed  to  fit  on  the  flesh  where  before 
it  had  sagged. 

"How  did  you  get  up  here?"  inquired  Gloria 
abruptly. 

93 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Ran." 

"Up  the  whole  four  flights?  The  elevator 
is  working." 

"D n  the  elevator!"  said  the  outrageous 

Darcy. 

"A  few  weeks  ago  you  were  damning  it  be- 
cause it  would  n't  carry  up  your  lazy  body. 
Is  n't  there  a  difference  now?" 

"I  don't  care;  it  is  n't  the  difference  I  want. 
I  want  to  look  like  something.  Gloria,  I'm 
desperate." 

"No,  child.  That  is  n't  despair.  It's  tem- 
per." 

"It's  not." 

"Go  back  to  Andy's  and  work  it  off." 

"I  wont!" 

"Very  well."  With  a  sigh  for  her  interrupted 
task,  Gloria  selected  a  hat,  set  it  carefully  upon 
her  splendid  hair  and  pinned  it  in  place.  "You  '11 
excuse  me,  won't  you,  my  dear?"  she  added  in 
tones  which  aroused  her  visitor's  alarmed  sus- 
picions. 

"Where  are  you  going?  To  see  Mr.  Dunne? " 

"Not  at  all." 

Darcy's  misgivings  livened  into  something 
like  terror. 

94 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Where,  then?" 

"To  see  Maud  and  Helen." 

"What  for?" 

"To  recount  to  them  the  authentic  and  inter- 
esting history  of  Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  Bart., 
hand-picked  fiance,  of  —  " 

"Gloria!  You  would  n't  be  so  base!" 

"I  would  be  just  that  base,"  returned  the 
other  in  the  measured  tones  of  judgment.  "But 
I  '11  give  you  a  respite  until  your  next  training 
day.  When  is  it?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow,"  answered  Darcy 
faintly. 

"If  you  are  n't  at  Andy's  then  to  answer  to 
the  call  of  time,  I  '11  tell  the  whole  thing  to  the 
two  fiancees  with  whatever  extra  details  my 
imagination  can  provide." 

Whereupon  Darcy  burst  into  tumultuous 
weeping,  declared  that  she  had  n't  a  friend  in 
the  world,  and  did  n't  care,  anyway,  because 
she  wished  she  was  dead,  and  went  forth  of 
that  unsympathetic  spot  with  the  air  and  ex- 
pression of  one  spurning  earth's  vanities  and 
deceptions  forever.  Being  wise  in  her  generation 
and  kind,  Gloria  knew  that  the  girl  would  go 
back  to  her  martyrdom.  So  she  called  up  Andy 

95 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Dunne  for  a  conference,  which  concluded  with 
this  sage  advice  from  her  to  him: 

"This  is  the  appointed  time,  Andy.  When 
she  comes  back,  put  the  screws  on  hard.  She'll 
go  through.  If  she  does  n't,  let  me  know." 

No  scapegrace  of  school,  led  back  from  tru- 
ancy after  some  especially  nefarious  project, 
ever  wore  a  face  of  more  tremulous  abasement 
than  Miss  Darcy  Cole,  returning  to  her  faith- 
ful trainer  whom  she  had  kicked  in  the  jaw. 
As  he  entered  the  gymnasium  a  strip  of  court- 
plaster  on  the  curve  of  his  chin  caught  her 
fascinated  attention  and  for  the  moment 
evicted  from  her  mind  the  careful  apology 
which  she  had  formulated.  Before  she  could 
recapture  it,  the  opportunity  was  gone. 

"Time!"  barked  Mr.  Dunne. 

The  day's  work  was  on. 

Such  an  ordeal  as  Darcy  underwent  in  con- 
sequence of  Gloria's  advice,  few  of  Mr.  Dunne's 
pupils  other  than  professional  athletes  would 
have  been  called  upon  to  endure,  a  fact  which 
might  have  helped  her  had  she  known  it.  Not 
knowing  it,  she  won  through  that  violent  hour 
on  sheer  grit.  At  the  trainer's  final  "NufT,"  she 
contrived  to  smile,  but  she  could  n't  quite  man- 

96 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

age  to  walk  off  the  floor.  She  sat  down  upon  a 
convenient  medicine-ball  and  waited  for  the 
dimness  to  clear.  A  hand  fell  on  her  shoulder 
and  rested  there  with  an  indefinable  pressure 
of  fellowship.  She  looked  up  to  see  the  task- 
master standing  above  her. 

"Say,  kid,"  he  began.  "Yah  are  a  kid, 
ainche?"  he  broke  off,  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  I  'm  going  — •  on  — •  twenty-two,"  panted 
Darcy. 

"Yeh,  I'd  figure  yah  about  there  —  now. 
Well,  I  'm  an  old  man;  old  enough  for  the  father 
stuff.  And  I  wanta  tell  yah  something.  I  like 
yah.  D'  yah  know  why  I  like  yah?" 

Darcy,  with  brightening  eye,  shook  her  head. 

"Because  yah'r  game,"  said  Mr.  Andy 
Dunne. 

A  voice  within  Darcy's  heart  burst  into  song. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  been 
praised  to  the  limit  of  a  fellow  being's  measure. 
For  gameness,  as  she  well  knew,  was  the  ulti- 
mate virtue  to  the  athlete  mind.  The  Big  Feller 
had  been  game,  even  in  his  downfall;  it  was 
that,  over  and  above  all  his  victories,  which 
had  enshrined  him  in  Andy  Dunne's  and  thou- 
sands of  other  stout  and  inexpressive,  hearts. 

97 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Her  trainer  had  paid  her  his  finest  compli- 
ment. 

"Yah'r  game,"  he  repeated.  "I  dunno  ex- 
actly what  yah  'r  out  after,  but  I  'm  backin'  yah 
to  get  it." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Dunne,"  said  Darcy  grate- 
fully. 

"Grmph!"  retorted  that  gentleman.  "Cut 
the  Mister.  Andy,  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  Andy,"  said  the  recipient  of 
the  accolade. 


Chapter  VII 

"/?ttm-tum-tum-tum-tum-tum-tiddle!" 

THE  voice  sounded,  fresh  and  brisk  from 
behind  the  portals  of  the  Fifty-Sixth 
Street  eyrie.  It  was  followed  by  a  rapid  succes- 
sion of  floppish  noises  which  fell  strangely  upon 
the  ears  of  Miss  Maud  Raines  and  Miss  Helen 
Barrett,  panting  after  their  long  ascent,  outside 
the  door.  They  had  returned  from  a  shopping 
tour  at  the  unaccustomed  hour  of  three  when 
Darcy  usually  could  rely  upon  having  the  place 
to  herself. 

"Isn't  Darcy  the  gay  young  sprite!"  said 
Helen  as  the  song  burst  forth  again. 

"Flip-flop,  flippity-floppity-^^/"  sounded 
in  progression  across  the  living-room  floor. 

The  two  fiancees  looked  at  each  other  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"What  on  earth!"  said  Maud  Raines. 

Again  the  voice  was  uplifted,  in  familiar  mel- 
ody, gemmed  with  words  less  familiar: 

"  Ru m-tu m-tu m-tum-tu m-tu m-tiddle, 
I  have  rolled  ten  pounds  from  off  my  middle. 

99 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

By  rolling  on  the  floor,  (Flip!  Flop!) 
As  I  told  you  before, 

Behind! 

Behind! 

Before!"  (Floppity-flop!) 

"I  do  believe  she 's  doing  it,"  whispered  Helen 
in  awed  accents. 

The  voice,  with  its  strange  accompaniments, 
resumed : 

"Rum-tum-tum-tum-tum-tum-tiddle, 
I  '11  roll  twenty  pounds  from  off  my  middle. 

I  have  done  it  before.  (Floppity-flop!  Thump!) 
I  can  do  it  some  more!"  (Whoof!) 

By  this  time  Maud's  key,  silently  inserted 
in  the  spring  lock,  had  made  connections.  She 
threw  the  door  open.  Darcy,  giving  an  imita- 
tion of  a  steam  roller  in  full  career  toward  the 
two  entrants,  was  startled  into  a  cry.  She  came 
to  her  feet  with  a  bound,  without  pausing  to 
touch  so  much  as  a  finger  to  the  floor,  a  detail 
which  escaped  the  protruding  eyes  of  her  flat- 
mates, and  stood  facing  them  flushed  and  de- 
fiant. 

"Well! "  said  Maud  Raines. 

"What  are  you  up  to,  Darcy?"  asked  Helen. 

"Exercising,"  said  Darcy  blandly. 

100 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"And  practicing  vocal  music  on  the  side," 
remarked  Maud. 

"Oh,  that 's  just  for  breathing,"  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

"But  what 's  it  all  about  ?  "  queried  Helen. 

"I've  gone  into  training." 

"You  .'What  for?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Just  for  fun." 

"You  look  it,"  was  Maud's  grim  commentary. 
"Who  's  training  you?" 

"Andy  Dunne.  He  trained  John  L.  Sullivan 
and  Gloria  Greene." 

"And  which  one  are  you  modeling  yourself 
on?"  asked  Maud  maliciously. 

"Oh,  I'd  rather  be  like  Gloria,  of  course," 
retorted  Darcy  easily.  "But  I  feel  more  like 
JohnL." 

"I  think  it  very  clever  of  you,  Darcy,"  ap- 
proved the  kind-hearted  Helen.  "Englishmen 
are  so  athletic." 

Darcy  seized  upon  the  convenient  sugges- 
tion. "Monty  is  crazy  for  me  to  be  a  real  sport," 
she  said  modestly. 

"It 's  a  good  thing  he  can't  see  you  learning," 
remarked  Maud. 

"Did  you  ever  know  anything  more  pa- 

101 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

thetic!"  said  Helen,  when  they  had  withdrawn, 
leaving  Darcy  to  resume  her  exercises. 

"Pathetic!  Driveling  foolishness!  Such  a  fig- 
ure as  she  cuts!  And  it 's  all  such  a  waste,"  con- 
cluded Maud,  complacent  in  her  own  bright- 
hued  prettiness. 

But  a  more  discerning  eye  took  a  different 
view.  Holcomb  Lee,  who  had  n't  seen  Darcy 
for  some  weeks,  had  no  sooner  said,  "Hello!" 
in  his  usual  offhand  way,  when  he  came  to  call 
that  evening,  than  he  seized  a  pencil  and  de- 
manded a  sheet  of  paper. 

"You're  always  drawing  Darcy!"  said  Maud 
disdainfully. 

"Just  that  curve  from  the  ear  down,"  said  he 
absently.  "Something  's  happened  to  it." 

"What?  "asked  Maud. 

"It's  come  true.  The  way  I  wanted  it  to  be. 
Only  better." 

He  took  Darcy  into  the  corner,  under  the 
light,  and  sketched  busily.  As  his  quick  glances 
appraised  her,  a  look  of  puzzlement  came  into 
his  eyes.  He  leaned  forward,  and  with  the 
inoffensive  impersonality  of  the  one-ideaed 
artist  ran  his  hand  lightly  over  her  shoulder 
and  down  the  arm. 

102 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Moses!"  said  Holcomb  Lee. 

Darcy  had  flexed  her  upper  arm  and  the  long, 
slender  muscles  came  up  like  iron. 

"Training?"  he  asked. 

Darcy  nodded. 

Again  he  regarded  her  subtly  altered  face. 

"What  for? The  chorus?" 

"Haven't  I  been  chorus  long  enough?" 
twinkled  Darcy. 

"I  get  you,"  said  Lee  with  emphasis.  "You'll 
make  the  ingenue  hustle  for  her  job,  whoever 
she  is.  By  Jinks,  it 's  a  miracle ! " 

"But  don't  tell  them,"  said  Darcy. 

"Who?  The  girls?  Haven't  they  noticed? 
Why,  a  blind  man  could  feel  the  difference  in 
you  ten  feet  away." 

"You're  the  only  one  that  has  noticed  it  so 
far,  and  you  're  an  artist." 

"Well,  I  suppose  the  girls  would  n't,"  said 
the  illustrator  thoughtfully.  "They  see  too 
much  of  you  to  recognize  the  change." 

What  Andy  Dunne's  exercises  had  so  obvi- 
ously wrought  in  muscle  and  condition,  Andy 
Dunne's  discipline  had  accomplished  for  char- 
acter. Imperceptibly  even  to  herself,  the  inner 
Darcy  was  growing  strong.  One  result  was  a 

103 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

new  zest  in  her  designing,  taking  the  form  of 
experiments  aside  from  the  beaten  track  which 
did  not  always  meet  the  approval  of  B.  Riegel, 
active  head  of  B.  Riegel  &  Sons,  manufacturers 
of  wall-paper.  Now  Mr.  Riegel's  approval,  with 
the  consequent  check,  was  highly  essential  to 
Miss  Darcy  Cole's  plans.  And  Miss  Darcy 
Cole's  attitude  toward  Mr.  Riegel  had  always 
been  acquiescent,  not  to  say  humble. 

But  on  a  particular  morning,  when  the  de- 
signer was  even  more  alive  than  she  was  now 
accustomed  to  feel,  she  brought  in  a  particular 
design,  upon  which  she  had  spent  much  time 
and  thought,  and  with  which  she  was  well  con- 
tent. Not  so  Mr.  Riegel.  Being  first,  last,  and 
between  times  a  man  of  business,  he  hardly 
gave  a  glance  to  the  dowdy  girl  as  she  entered, 
but  bestowed  his  entire  attention  on  the  sketch. 

"Too  blank,"  was  his  verdict. 

"That  makes  it  restful,"  suggested  Darcy. 

"Who  wants  restfulness?  Pep!  That 's  what 
goes  these  days." 

"It's  for  a  sleeping-room,  you  know." 

For  all  the  effect  upon  the  wall-paper  man 
she  might  as  well  not  have  spoken.  He  set  two 
pencil  cross-marks  on  the  design. 

104 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Ornamentation  here,  and  here,"  he  directed 
curtly. 

"I  prefer  it  as  it  is,"  said  Darcy  calmly. 

Two  months  —  yes,  two  weeks  before  — 
Darcy  would  have  stepped  meekly  out  and 
ruined  her  pattern  by  introducing  the  Riegel 
ornamentation.  But  all  was  different  now.  Andy 
Dunne's  encomium,  "  because  yah  'r  game," 
had  put  fire  in  her  blood.  There  was  a  reflection 
of  it  in  her  cheeks  when  Mr.  Riegel  looked  up 
at  her  in  surprise  and  annoyance.  He  saw  the 
same  familiar  figure  in  the  same  shabby,  ill- 
fitting  clothes.  But  now  she  was  standing  up 
inside  them.  And  she,  whose  dull  regard  for- 
merly drooped  away  from  the  most  casual  en- 
counter, was  confronting  him  with  bright  and 
level  eyes. 

"Suppose  you  give  my  way  a  trial,"  sug- 
gested this  changeling. 

"Mebbe  you  know  more  about  this  business 
than  I  do,"  he  challenged. 

"Not  at  all.  But  it's  my  design,  after  all, 
is  n't  it?"  said  the  girl  pleasantly. 

Gathering  it  up  with  hands  which  somehow 
suggested  protectiveness  against  the  Philistine 
blight  of  Mr.  Riegel,  she  bestowed  it  safe  in  her 

105 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

imitation-leather  roll.  "I'll  try  to  bring  you 
another  next  week,"  she  promised. 

"Wait,  now,  a  minute!"  cried  the  perplexed 
employer.  "What 're  you  going  to  do  with  this 
one?" 

"Try  it  on  Balke  &  Stover." 

"Leave  it,"  he  ordered.  "Check '11  be  sent." 
He  whirled  around  in  his  chair,  presenting  the 
broad  hint  of  a  busy  back  to  her. 

"Make  it  for  thirty  dollars,  please,"  said 
Darcy  to  the  back. 

Mr.  Riegel  performed  a  reverse  whirl  so  much 
more  swiftly  than  his  swivel-chair  was  prepared 
for  that  it  was  thrown  off  its  balance,  and  its  oc- 
cupant, with  a  smothered  yelp,  beheld  himself 
orbitally  projected  toward  a  line  of  open  sam- 
ple paints  waiting  on  the  floor  for  a  test.  Mr. 
Riegel's  own  person  was  the  last  medium  in  the 
world  upon  which  he  desired  to  test  them,  for 
much  stress  had  been  laid  upon  their  lasting 
quality.  He  was  sprawling  out,  fairly  above 
them,  beyond  human  help,  it  seemed,  when 
something  happened.  Darcy,  standing  in  that 
attitude  of  unconscious  but  alert  poise  which 
rigid  physical  training  inculcates,  thrust  forth 
a  slender  but  powerful  hand,  caught  the  de- 

106 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

spairing  Riegel,  as  it  were  in  mid-flight,  brought 
him  up  all  standing,  restored  him  to  the  chair 
and  both  of  them  to  the  status  quo. 

"Urf!"  gasped  the  victim  of  these  maneu- 
vers. He  bent  a  look  upon  Darcy  which  was  a 
curious  blend  of  wonder,  skepticism,  and  re- 
spect. "Say,"  he  said,  "you  could  n't  use  a  job 
in  the  trucking  department,  maybe?"  Then, 
recovering  himself,  he  growled:  "What  was 
that  you  said  about  thirty  dollars?" 

The  growl  had  no  effect.  Darcy's  confidence 
had  been  stiffened  by  the  little  interlude  of  the 
chair. 

"My  prices  have  gone  up,"  she  informed 
him. 

"The  devil  they  have!  Beg  y'  pardon,  Miss 
Watchername  — " 

"My  name  is  Cole." 

"Miss  Cole.  Look-a-here,  now;  d'  you  think 
your  work  is  worth  ten  dollars  more  than  it  has 
been?" 

"Put  it  this  way;  I  think  you've  been  paying 
me  ten  dollars  too  little.  Don't  you?" 

At  bottom  Mr.  Riegel  was  a  fair-minded  as 
well  as  a  shrewd  person.  Moreover,  he  had  been 
tremendously  impressed  by  the  unsuspected 

107 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

physical  prowess  of  this  queer  specimen.  To 
catch  him  in  mid-flight  and  reestablish  his 
equilibrium  had  required  no  mean  quality  of 
muscle.  Yet  this  sloppy-looking  girl  had  done 
it  without  turning  a  hair!  And  now  she  was 
striking  him  for  a  raise.  He  laughed  aloud. 

"That  ain't  the  point,"  said  he.  "I  don't; 
.but  some  of  my  competitors  might.  Lessay 
twenty-five  for  the  next  half-dozen :  after  that, 
thirty,  and  this  one  goes,  as  is." 

"Right!"  said  Darcy,  composedly. 

Exultant  she  went  out  into  a  dusk  of  wind 
and  rain,  such  as  would  have  swamped  her  spirit 
in  misery  aforetime,  and  fought  her  way  joy- 
ously through  it,  ending  her  journey  by  taking 
the  long  flights  of  the  apartment  two  steps  at  a 
time  and  singing  as  she  sped.  Outside  the  door 
she  had  noticed  a  taxi.  In  the  front  room  she 
found  Gloria,  who  had  stopped  on  her  way  to 
the  theater,  stretched  on  the  divan  and  talking 
with  the  turtledoves. 

"  I  looked  in  to  see  how  you  were  getting  on," 
said  the  actress,  eyeing  Darcy  keenly. 

"Splendidly!" 

"Everything  all  right  in  the  gymnasium? 
Did  Andy  —  er— " 

108 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Oh,  yes.  It's  all  right,"  hastily  broke  in  the 
girl,  having  no  mind  to  hear  her  felonies  dis- 
cussed by  her  flat-mates.  "Just  as  right  as 
right  can  be." 

"You're  awfully  chirpy,  considering  what  a 
beast  of  a  raw,  rainy  day  it's  been,"  observed 
Helen. 

"Is  it  bad?"  said  Darcy  blandly.  "I  suppose 
it  is,  but  I  hardly  noticed." 

"Another  British  mail  in,  I  suppose,"  con- 
jectured Maud.  "That  always  brightens  her 
up." 

"If  there  is  I  haven't  got  anything  yet," 
answered  Darcy,  who  had  neglected  to  consult 
the  morning  papers  for  the  incoming  steamship 
entries.  Her  myth  involved  so  many  supporting 
lies,  that  it  was  difficult  and  ticklish  to  keep 
it  properly  bolstered  up. 

"Has  she  told  you  about  the  Britisher,  Glo- 
ria?" asked  Helen. 

"Monty  Veyze?  Of  course.  I  know  him." 

"You  know  him!"  cried  Helen  and  Maud 
in  a  breath.  "What 's  he  like?" 

"Oh,  he's  all  that  Darcy  thinks  he  is,"  smiled 
Gloria.  "It's  years  since  I've  seen  him.  To 
put  it  Englishwise,  he  was  by  way  of  being 

109 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

horribly  smart,  then.    Just  where  is  he  now, 
Darcy?" 

"Near  the  Siberian  frontier,"  said  Darcy 
shortly.  There  was  a  gleam  in  Gloria's  eye  which 
she  neither  understood  nor  liked. 

"In  one  of  the  twenty-two  sub-wars  that 
signalize  the  universal  peace,  I  suppose," 
laughed  the  actress.  "  Or  is  it  twenty-nine. " 

"  I  thought  long  engagements  were  n't  the 
thing  in  England,"  said  Maud,  musingly.  "Par- 
ticularly in  these  uncertain  times  when  — •  when 
anything  might  happen." 

"I  think  that 's  pretty  horrid  of  you,  Maud," 
retorted  Darcy  with  carefully  assumed  sadness, 
smothering  a  private  and  murderous  wish  that 
"anything"  would  happen  to  her  home-made 
fiance. 

"I  don't  mean  it  that  way.  But  if  I  were 
really  engaged  to  an  Englishman  on  active  serv- 
ice, I'd  go  over  and  marry  him,  on  his  very 
first  leave." 

Casual  though  Maud's  "really"  sounded,  it 
brought  red  to  Darcy's  cheeks  and  a  livelier 
gleam  to  Gloria's  eyes.  The  latter  turned  to 
Darcy. 

"Why  not  tell  them?" 
no 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Tell  them  what?"  inquired  the  girl,  staring 
at  her  mentor  in  amaze  and  alarm. 

"All  about  Monty.  The  whole  thing.  You 
know,  I  claim  a  partnership  in  him." 

By  a  mighty  effort  Darcy  suppressed  a  gasp. 
What  was  Gloria  up  to,  now  ? 

"Go  on,"  the  actress  urged.  "Tell  them." 

"I-I  can't,"  stammered  Darcy,  which  was 
exactly  what  the  feminine  Macchiavelli  on  the 
divan  was  maneuvering  for. 

"Shy?"  said  she,  sweetly.  "Very  well,  then. 
I'll  tell  them.  May  I?" 

Receiving  a  dubious  nod,  Gloria  proceeded : 

"Sir  Montrose  Veyze  has  finally  got  his  leave. 
He'll  be  here  about  the  middle  of  October." 

(That "  gone  "  feeling  came  over  Darcy.) 

"By  the  I5th?"  asked  Helen  eagerly.  "In 
time  for  our  wedding?" 

"No.  That 's  the  unfortunate  part.  We  hoped 
we  could  make  it  a  triple  wedding.  That 's  the 
little  surprise  Darcy  has  been  waiting  to  spring 
on  you." 

"  Can't  he  make  it? "  asked  Maud.  The  no- 
tion of  a  titled  adjunct  to  her  marriage  appealed 
strongly  to  her  practical  mind. 

"Not  quite.  The  best  he  can  do  is  the  i6th. 
in 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Possibly  later.  So  they  '11  be  married  quite 
quietly  from  my  apartment  and  have  a  month's 
honeymoon  before  he  goes  back." 

To  all  of  which  Darcy  listened  in  the  stupe- 
faction of  despair.  She  was  roused  by  Helen 
Barrett's  bear-hug  of  congratulations. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Helen,  "I  haven't 
really  quite  been  able  to  believe  it  up  to  now. 
Oh,  Darcy,  I  'm  so  glad  for  you ! " 

With  some  faltered  excuse  for  getting  out  of 
the  room,  the  subject  of  this  untimely  felicita- 
tion escaped.  Her  brain  seethed  with  horrid 
conjectures.  Here  was  a  furtherance  of  her 
phantom  plans  for  which  she  was  wholly  unpre- 
pared. Doubtless  Gloria  had  something  in  mind; 
but  what  could  it  be  ?  When  the  day  of  inevita- 
ble reckoning  should  come,  Darcy  could  see  no 
adequate  solution  other  than  suicide  or  perma- 
nent disappearance.  Meanwhile  Gloria  was  put- 
ting her  to  the  test  of  the  severest  judgment  by 
asking  her  flat-mates  : 

"Don't  you  think  Darcy  looks  well?" 

If  beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  so 
likewise  is  the  lack  of  it.  Having  become  habit- 
uated to  regarding  their  junior  partner  as  aes- 
thetically and  femininely  negligible,  the  other 

112 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

girls  failed  to  appreciate  the  vital  changes  that 
were  in  progress.  Miracles,  set  under  our  eyes, 
do  not  arrest  us.  Otherwise  we  should  all  stand 
about  in  stupefaction  watching  trees  grow. 

"She  looks  healthy,"  granted  Maud  indif- 
ferently. 

"And  she 's  a  lot  more  cheerful  and  lively," 
added  Helen.  "But  she'll  always  be  —  well, 
just  Darcy." 

Being  a  scrupulously  courteous  person  Miss 
Gloria  Greene  refrained  from  the  prophetic 
comparison  which  suggested  itself  to  her  an- 
noyed mind  as  appropriate,  and  contented  her- 
self with  the  inward  retort: 

"Oh,  will  she!  Wait  until  I've  dressed  her. 
And  then  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  your  Holcomb 
Lees  and  your  Paul  Woods ! " 

On  her  way  out  Darcy  pounced  upon  her. 

"Gloria!  What  have  you  let  me  in  for?  How 
am  I  ever  going  to  get  out  of  it? " 

"Heaven  knows!"  returned  the  actress  airily. 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"Have  n't  an  idea.  Sufficient  unto  the  day 
is—" 

"Unto  all  the  rest  of  my  days,  I  should 
think,"  interrupted  the  dolorous  Darcy. 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Engagements  have  to  come  to  a  head  some- 
time, somehow,"  pointed  out  Gloria. 

"But  you've  made  this  so  dreadfully  defi- 
nite!" 

"Darcy,  I  had  to!  I  just  couldn't  stand 
Maud's  insinuation  that  you  were  n't  really 
engaged  —  the  cat!  She  as  much  as  said  that 
Montrose  Veyze  was  just  having  a  silly  flirta- 
tion with  you  and  that  you  took  it  au  grand 


serieux" 


"What  if  she  knew  the  awful  truth?" 

"Don't  be  afraid.  She  won't." 

"How  are  we  going  to  help  it?" 

"Break  the  engagement;  there's  one  way. 
Say  the  word,  Darcy,  my  child,"  said  Gloria 
striking  a  sacrificial  attitude,  "  and  I  '11  go  across 
and  gather  in  Monty  Veyze,  myself,  for  your 
sake." 

"Is  n't  there  an  obstacle  on  this  side  of  the 
water?"  suggested  Darcy  shyly,  thinking  of 
Jack  Remsen. 

Gloria  reddened  a  little.  "  Not  that  any  one 
knows  of,"  she  returned.  "I  am  wedded  to  me 
a-r-rt." 

"Anyway,  if  the  engagement  is  broken, 
they'll  say  he  jilted  me." 

114 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Then  jilt  him." 

"They'd  never  believe  it." 

"Probably  not,"  assented  Gloria. 

"And  October  is  awfully  near!  I'll  never  dare 
show  my  face  again,"  wailed  Darcy. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  the  other  re- 
assuringly. "If  it  were  your  old  face,  now,  you 
might  be  justified  in  not  wanting  to  show  it. 
Faces  change,  and  we  change  with  'em,  as  the 
prophet  says." 

"It  was  n't  the  prophet,  and  he  did  n't  say 
that,  anyway.  He  said,  'Times  change,  and  — " 

" —  and  faces  change  with  'em,  worse  luck! " 
supplied  the  actress  cheerfully.  "Though  all 
of  'em  don't  change  for  the  worse.  Darcy,  how 
much  do  you  weigh?"  she  demanded  with  an 
abrupt  change  of  tone  to  the  business-like. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-eight  and  a  half, 
as  I  go  on  the  gym  floor." 

"That's  good  enough.  'The  time  has  come,' 
the  walrus  said,  'to  talk  of  many  things;  of 
shoes,  and  shirts,  and  chemisettes,  of  hats  and 
eke  stockings.' ': 

"Clothes!"  cried  Darcy,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"Clothes.  Are  you  prepared,  in  the  sight  of 
heaven  and  earth,  to  spend  seven  or  eight  hun- 

"5 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

dred  of  Aunt  Sarah's  hard-earned  on  a  trous- 
seau?" 

"Oof!  Don't  say  trousseau  to  me!  It  reminds 
me.  Apart  from  that  —  try  me! " 

"All  right.  What  are  you  going  to  do  to- 
morrow at  three?" 

"Cover  Central  Park  lengthwise  and  back 
in  the  even  hour.  Andy's  orders." 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  interfere.  Make  it  the 
day  after  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Meet 
me  at  my  place.  We  '11  have  a  sartorial  orgy." 

That  night  Darcy  dreamed  herself  a  princess. 


Chapter  VIII 

SELFISHNESS,"  says  that  wise  and  happy 
and  altogether  radiant  person,  Gloria 
Greene,  "comes  from  lack  of  vitality.  Most 
people  have  n't  enough  capital  stock  of  vigor 
to  live  on  comfortably.  So  you  can't  expect 
them  to  loan  or  give  away  any  in  the  form  of 
thoughtfulness  for  any  one  else.  They  're  pau- 
pers, poor  things!  The  bankruptest  person  I 
ever  knew  had  eighty  thousand  a  year,  and 
no  thing  else." 

Adroitly  and  by  indirection  the  proponent  of 
this  doctrine  had  been  suggesting  it  to  Darcy 
Cole,  and  that  adaptable  pupil  had  uncon- 
sciously absorbed  much  of  it.  The  new  character 
that  she  had  built  up  out  of  discipline  and  ab- 
stinence as  the  weeks  grew  into  months,  the 
solidifying  confidence  in  herself,  the  burgeoning 
of  vigor,  and  the  subtle  development  of  that 
wondrous  and  mysterious  quality  which  we 
term  personality  and  which  is  the  touchstone 
between  our  inner  and  outer  worlds,  had  com- 
bined to  open  and  broaden  Darcy's  life.  Andy 
Dunne  had  long  ago  begun  to  take  certain  of 

117 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

his  professional  problems  to  her  and  profit  by 
her  shrewd  helpfulness.  More  than  once  she 
had,  of  her  own  initiative,  laid  hold  on  some 
shrinking,  draggled,  disheartened  neophyte, 
such  as  she  herself  had  been,  who  through  mere 
helplessness  had  reduced  Andy  to  wrathful  de- 
spair, and,  by  a  forced  loan  of  will  power  and 
buoyancy,  pulled  her  through  the  shallows  to 
fair  going  again.  On  one  occasion  she  had  gone 
to  police  court  with  Andy  on  behalf  of  a  girl 
who  was  "going  wrong,"  the  sister  of  one  Gil- 
lig,  a  promising  young  pugilist  under  Andy's 
guidance;  where  she  had  so  impressed  the  mag- 
istrate that  (seeing  her  with  Andy,  whom  he 
knew)  he  asked  if  she  was  a  trainer,  and  hinted 
that  he  would  be  glad  of  her  help  on  some  of  the 
border-line  cases  which  reach  our  lower  courts 
in  a  status  of  suspended  balance,  and  are  either 
hauled  back  to  safety  or  plunged  into  the  chasm 
of  the  underworld,  according  as  they  are  han- 
dled with  or  without  tact  and  sympathy.  After 
that  visit,  Darcy  took  to  dropping  in  at  the 
court  twice  a  week  or  so  to  act  as  unofficial 
counselor  where  the  judge  mistrusted  the  me- 
chanical rigidity  of  official  intervention.  It 
gave  her  a  fresh  zest  in  life  to  find  herself  of 

118 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

some  practical  use  to  others.  As  to  the  extra 
work,  she  took  that  upon  her  supple  shoulders 
without  a  quiver.  Body  and  soul,  Darcy  had 
grown  as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  ripening  fruit 
and  as  sturdy  as  the  tree  that  bears  it. 

Satisfying  as  was  the  compliment  paid  her 
by  the  magistrate,  she  had  a  better  one  from 
Andy  not  long  after.  At  the  conclusion  of  one 
of  their  five-minute  boxing  bouts,  in  the  course 
of  which  she  had  landed  once  with  force  and 
precision  below  the  professional's  properly 
cauliflowered  ear,  he  said  to  her,  with  a  some- 
what hesitant  air: 

"Say,  Miss  Darcy;  are  yah  rich?" 

"I  certainly  am  not." 

"But  —  excuse  me  if  I'm  too  nosey  —  yah 
got  money,  ain't  yah  ? " 

"Only  what  I  earn." 

" Earn?  D'  yah  work? '• 

"Of  course.  I'm  the  original  Honest  Work- 
ing Girl  you  read  about,  Andy." 

"Pretty  good  job?" 

"Fairly." 

"Yah  would  n't  wanta  quit  it,  I  guess,"  sur- 
mised the  trainer. 
^    "  For  what  ? "  asked  the  wondering  Darcy. 

119 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Yah  see,"  explained  Andy,  nonchalantly 
juggling  a  medicine-ball  the  while,  "since  the 
tight  skirt  come  in  I  'm  getting  a  lot  of  ladies  to 
train  down  to  their  skirts.  More  'n  I  can  really 
handle  right.  Now,  I  kinda  thought  if  you'd 
come  in  as  assistant  —  well,  yah  can  name  yahr 
own  terms,  Miss  Darcy." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  bright  and  affec- 
tionate eyes.  "Andy,  you're  a  dear.  That's  the 
nicest  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me." 

"It  ain't  a  proposition  I'd  make  to  every- 
body, I  can  tell  yah,"  averred  the  professional. 
"In  fact,  I  dunno  as  there  's  any  one  else  I'd 
make  it  to  but  you.  Except  Miss  Greene,"  he 
added  loyally. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Andy.  But  I  couldn't 
very  well  drop  my  other  work." 

"No?"  sighed  Andy.  "Well,  I  s'pose  not. 
Well,"  he  added,  palliating  the  blow  to  his 
hopes,  "yah '11  be  gettin'  married  one  of  these 
days,  and  then  it'd  be  all  off,  anyhow." 

"Married!"  laughed  his  pupil.  "Who'd 
marry  a  plain  little  stick  like  me  in  a  city  full 
of  pretty  girls  ?" 

"Go-wan!"  retorted  the  other.  Regarding 
her  candid  face,  he  perceived  that  this  was  no 

120 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

bluff.  "Go-wan!"  he  repeated  fervidly.  "Get 
onto  yahrself.  Ain't  yah  got  a  mirrah  in  the 
house?" 

"Oh,  that 's  just  because  you  like  me,  Andy," 
she  returned. 

Nevertheless  she  thrilled  to  the  rough  com- 
pliment. Holcomb  Lee,  with  his  artistic  sense, 
and  now  this  expert  of  flesh  and  blood!  Was 
her  dream  really  coming  true  already? 

That  very  afternoon  it  was  shattered. 

The  Fifth  Avenue  bus  went  sliding,  slewing, 
and  curving  along  the  wet  pavement.  Within  sat 
a  moist  and  bedraggled  but  cheerful  Darcy,  re- 
turning from  a  highly  encouraging  consultation 
with  Mr.  B.  Riegel  and  the  head  of  his  color- 
room  called  in  to  meet  the  firm's  most  promis- 
ing contributor  of  designs.  Another  advance 
in  her  rates  had  been  foreshadowed;  so  what 
did  Darcy  care,  though  forgotten  umbrella  and 
overshoes  had  exposed  her  to  a  violent  shower, 
now  clearing?  Her  Central  Park  jaunts  had 
hardened  her  to  a  point  where  she  disregarded 
weather  with  contemptuous  indifference.  So 
now,  instead  of  being  huddled  in  her  seat,  con- 
templative of  her  own  discomfort,  she  sat  alert 
and  interestedly  watchful  of  the  outside  world 

121 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

that  went  sliding  past  her  window.  At  the  cor- 
ner of  Fifteenth  Street  the  bus  skidded  to  a 
stop  at  the  signal  of  a  frail,  poorly  dressed  young 
woman  who  staggered  out  from  the  curb,  lug- 
ging a  large  suitcase  in  both  hands.  She  tried  to 
lift  it  to  the  step  and  failed. 

Now,  it  was  nobody's  business  how  the 
chance  fare  got  on  the  bus,  or,  indeed,  whether 
she  got  on  at  all  or  was  left  standing  on  the 
asphalt,  except  the  conductor's  and  he  was  busy 
upstairs.  Certainly  it  was  no  affair  of  Darcy's; 
and  the  old  Darcy  would  have  taken  that  view 
in  the  improbable  event  of  her  having  noticed 
the  overweighted  woman  at  all.  The  new  Darcy 
was  up  instinctively  and  out  like  a  flash.  She 
grabbed  the  case  and  got  a  surprise.  It  weighed 
at  least  sixty  pounds.  Darcy  had  the  basis  for 
a  fairly  accurate  estimate,  as  she  had  been  re- 
cently occupying  herself  with  a  sixty-pound 
dumb-bell.  Thanks  to  a  persuasive  quality  of 
muscle  which  this. exercise  had  imparted  to  her, 
she  whisked  the  ponderous  thing  to  the  plat- 
form, and  bore  it  victoriously  inside.  The 
woman  followed,  panting  out  her  gratitude. 
As  Darcy  was  setting  her  burden  down,  the 
bus  gave  an  unexpected  lurch  and  one  end  of 

122 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  case  landed  upon  a  slightly  projecting  shoe. 
The  owner  of  the  shoe  gave  utterance  to  a 
startled  and  pained  interjection. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!"  apologized  Darcy,  shift- 
ing the  offending  bag. 

The  injured  one  turned  upon  her  a  smile  as  un- 
ruffled and  good-humored  as  if  his  main  enjoy- 
ment in  life  was  having  heavy  things  dropped 
on  his  feet.  But  there  was  no  recognition  in  the 
smile  nor  in  the  brief  glance  which  accompanied 
it.  Yet  the  smiler  was  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen. 

"Entirely  my  fault,"  said  he.  "Teach  me  to 
keep  my  feet  out  of  the  aisle."  Darcy  mur- 
mured something  muffled  and  incoherent. 

"Let  me  stow  that  for  you,"  offered  Remsen, 
and,  finding  a  spot  for  it  beneath  the  steps,  de- 
posited it  there,  bowed  in  response  to  the  thanks 
of  the  two  women,  and  resumed  his  seat.  The 
newcomer  slipped  in  beside  Darcy. 

"You  work,  don't  you?"  asked  she,  timidly. 

"Yes.  What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Because  you  're  so  kind.  And  you're  awful 
strong." 

"That  suitcase  is  much  too  heavy  for  you. 
You'll  injure  yourself  with  it,"  said  Darcy, 
who  was  no  larger  than  the  other,  severely. 

123 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Metal  advertising  cuts,"  explained  the 
other.  "I  only  have  to  carry  it  twice  a  week." 

"Whereto?" 

"Thirtieth  over  beyond  Third  Av'nyeh." 

"But  that's  a  terribly  long  way  to  carry  that 
weight." 

The  woman  sighed.  "Yes,  I  know.  It's  nearer 
by  the  Fourth  Av'nyeh  line,  but  I  go  this  way 
because  the  bus  conductors  are  so  decent  about 
helpin'  you  on  and  off,"  said  she,  paying  a 
merited  compliment  to  the  most  courteous  and 
serviceable  of  New  York's  transportation  em- 
ployees. "It's  worth  the  extra  nickel." 

"I'll  get  off  with  you  and  give  you  a  lift." 

Different  arrangements,  however,  were  in 
process.  Nearing  the  corner  of  the  prospective 
debarkation  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  arose,  walked 
to  the  door,  and  vigorously  yanked  the  corpu- 
lent valise  from  its  nook. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  dividing  his 
impersonal  and  courteous  regard  between  the 
two  occupants  of  the  seat,  "but  I  overheard 
your  conversation.  It  just  happens  that  I'm 
bound  for  Third  Avenue,  myself.  So,  if  you  will 
permit  me — " 

Darcy's  companion,  abashed  by  the  elegance 
124 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

of  this  obvious  "swell,"  wriggled  and  fluttered 
and  protested.  Mr.  Remsen  paid  no  heed. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  announced  cheerily,  step- 
ping to  the  pavement.  "Watch  your  step." 

Thus  overruled,  the  woman  followed.  The 
assumer  of  burdens  not  his  own  attained  the 
sidewalk  and  all  but  dislocated  his  neck  by  the 
jerk  with  which  he  turned  it,  as  a  voice  from 
the  departing  bus  said  clearly,  and,  as  he 
thought,  a  shade  maliciously: 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Remsen." 

The  malice  was  there.  It  was  a  reflex  of  Miss 
Darcy  Cole's  resentment  in  that,  apart  from 
any  question  of  recognition,  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen 
had  failed  to  see,  in  one  casual  glance  at  her 
face,  anything  which  impelled  him  to  bestow 
a  second  glance.  Genuine  though  they  had 
been,  the  testimonials  of  Messrs.  Andy  Dunne 
and  Holcomb  Lee  were  thereby  attainted  and 
brought  to  naught. 

No  one,  to  hear  Miss  Cole's  lightsome  subse- 
quent report  of  the  occurrence  for  the  benefit 
of  Gloria  Greene,  would  have  dreamed  that  it 
had  left  a  sting. 

"Now,  what,"  concluded  the  narrator  of 
the  episode,  "  do  you  suppose  the  magnificent 
125 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Mr.  Remsen  was  doing  in  a  scrubby  Third  Ave- 
nue locality?" 

"Precisely  what  you  were  going  to  do," 
opined  Gloria.  "Helping  some  one  who  needed 
his  help." 

"You  mean  that  that  combination  of  Adonis 
and  Ananias  had  no  real  business  of  his  own 
there  at  all?" 

"I  can't  conceive  what  it  would  be." 

Darcy  opened  wide  and  luminous  eyes. 
"Then  it  was  just  to  be  a  good  fellow?  " 

"Probably.  You  would  n't  think  it  of  Jack 
Remsen,  would  you?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  would  n't.  Why  not?" 

"Oh,  he  gives  the  impression  to  those  who 
don't  know  him  of  being  so  particular  about 
himself  and  so  indifferent  about  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  that  is  n't  a  Remsen,"  said  Gloria. 

"D'you  think  so?"  queried  Darcy  carelessly. 
"That  was  n't  the  impression  he  gave  me  when 
I  first  met  him." 

"What  was  your  reading  of  his  character, 
oh,  wise  and  profound  student  of  human 
nature?" 

"If  you  laugh  at  me  I  won't  tell  you,"  re- 
torted Darcy,  and,  as  Gloria  was  openly  laugh- 

126 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ing  at  her,  proceeded  to  do  it  in  the  following 
inventory: 

"I  thought  that  if  I  was  a  very  old,  plain 
woman  with  a  lot  of  bundles,  or  a  sick  cat,  or  a 
man  in  an  awful  mess,  I  'd  look  to  him  first  in 
any  crowd." 

"Jack  would  like  that,"  commented  Gloria, 
with  her  sunlit  smile. 

"But  not  if  I  were  a  plain,  little,  unnoticeable 
girl." 

Gloria  twinkled.  "An  afterthought,"  she  de- 
clared. "Meaning  yourself?" 

"Meaning  myself." 

"Liar." 

"Well,  are  n't  I  that  kind  of  a  girl?  And  if  I 
are  n't,  why  did  n't  he  recall  me,  or  even  look 
at  me  twice?" 

"Perhaps  he's  engrossed  in  his  own  troubles." 

"Did  n't  look  as  if  he  had  a  trouble  in  the 
world." 

"No;  Jack  would  n't  if  he  were  to  be  shot  at 
sunrise." 

"Is  he?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  But  he's  going  to  be 
exiled  or  forced  into  hiding  or  something  eva- 
sive and  lonely.  Some  boresome  family  row  that 

127 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

threatens  to  burst  into  a  lawsuit,  and  when  it 
does,  Jack  has  to  take  cover  and  keep  it  until 
it's  over,  so  as  not  to  be  called  as  a  witness.  So 
you  need  n't  feel  insulted  simply  because  he  is 
brooding  on  his  own  affairs  to  the  neglect — " 

"I'm  not  feeling  insulted,"  denied  the  girl 
vigorously.  "It's  nothing  to  me  whether  people 
remember  me  or  not."  Suddenly  her  face 
sparkled  and  her  mobile  lips  quivered  deli- 
cately with  suppressed  glee.  "Oh,  but  I  have 
been  insulted.  I've  saved  it  up  to  tell  you." 

"Business  of  listening  eagerly,"  said  the 
actress.  "Who  did  it?" 

"A  man."      • 

"Naturally.  Hence  the  dimple."  She  pointed 
an  accusing  finger  at  Darcy's  cheek.  "Where?" 

"Mouseley's  restaurant,  on  the  Circle." 

"Gracious,  child !  You  are  peeking  around  the 
corners  of  life.  Don't  you  know  the  Mouse- 
Trap  is  n't  respectable?" 

"I  do  now.  I  didn't  then.  Tea  was  all  I 
wanted.  The  tea  was  respectable  enough.  It 
was  very  good  tea." 

"Never  mind  the  tea.  Tell  me  the  rest." 

"He — the  man  —  came  over  to  my  table. 
He  was  n't  a  bad-looking  man  at  all ;  so  f  resh- 

128 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

colored  and  pinky-brown,  and  dressed  like  the 
back  page  of  a  magazine.  And  he  called  me"  — 
Darcy  chuckled  most  reprehensibly  at  this 
point  —  "he  called  me  Miss  Glad-Eyes." 

"Did  you  shoo  him  away?" 

"I  told  him  he'd  made  a  mistake,  and  he  said 
he'd  like  to  make  one  like  it  every  day  in  the 
week  and  pulled  out  a  chair  and  sat  down.  It 
was  awfully  funny." 

"It  sounds  so.  What  did  you  do  then?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I'd  have  done,  but  I 
did  n't  have  to  do  anything.  Another  man 
came  up  — " 

"Two!"  murmured  Gloria.  "Shades  of  Circe! 
Well?" 

"This  one  had  a  funny  ear  and  short  hair  and 
he  said,  'You  don't  know  me,  miss.  But  I  seen 
you  workin'-out  at  Andy's.  My  name's  Gillig. 
You  done  a  good  turn  for  my  kid  sister  once 
and  I  ain't  forgot  it.'  So  I  said,  'How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Gillig.  I  can't  introduce  you  to  this 
other  gentleman  because  he  helped  himself  to 
this  chair  without  mentioning  his  name.'  'That 
kind  does,'  Mr.  Gillig  said.  'He'd  better  take 
a  run.'  My  pinky-brown  caller  did  n't  seem  to 
take  to  the  suggestion.  'Maybe  so;  maybe  not/ 

129 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

he  said.  'I  belong  to  the  Bouncers'  Union,  my- 
self.' Then  Mr.  Gillig  looked  at  him  hard  and 
said,  'I'm  Spike  Gillig,  the  welter-weight.  I 
don't  practice  me  art  for  me  health'  —  Yes,  he 
did,  Gloria;  he  spoke  of  it  as  his  art!  —  'And  I 
ain't  strong  for  scrappin'  out  of  business  hours,' 
he  said.  'But  I  ain't  goin'  to  sit  by  and  see  any 
rough  stuff  pulled  on  this  young  lady.'  'Whad- 
dye  mean,  rough  stuff?'  said  the  other  man, 
quite  dignified  and  injured.  'Lemme  tell  you, 
I'm  as  much  a  gent  as  you  are.  And  I  ain't 
duckin'  any  muss,  professional  or  amachure. 
My  weight  is  a  hundred-and-eighty,  stripped, 
beggin'  Miss  Peach's  pardon,  and  if  you  wanta 
know  who  I  am,  I  'm  Scrap  Gilfillan,  shortstop 
of  the  Marvels,  comin'  champions  of  the  world. 
But  if  you  say  this  lady  is  a  friend  of  yours  — ' 
"For  some  reason,  Gloria,  that  seemed  to 
make  Mr.  Gillig  awfully  angry.  He  got  purple 
clear  to  his  ears,  and  growled,  'She  ain't  no 
friend  of  mine.  See?  This  is  a  lady,  this  is.'  'I 
gotcha,'  the  shortstop  man  said.  He  turned  to 
me.  'Am  I  in  wrong,  miss?  Was  you  ever  to  this 
joint  before?'  'Never,'  I  told  him.  'Apologies 
all  round,'  he  said,  quite  handsomely.  'And  if 
no  offense  is  taken  where  none's  meant,  would 

130 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  two  of  you  kindly  have  one  little  one  with 
me  just  to  prove  it?" 

"Lovely!"  cried  the  en  tranced  Gloria.  "What 
did  you  do  ?  This  is  important.  Oh,  this  is  most 
awfully  important!" 

"Do?"  rippled  the  girl.  "I  took  sarsaparilla." 

"Darcy  Cole,  formerly  Amanda  Darcy  Cole," 
said  Gloria  solemnly.  "Come  to  my  arms.  I 
hereby  declare  you  a  full  Fellow  of  the  Insti- 
tute of  Life,  free  of  its  brotherhood,  equipped 
to  come  and  go  in  all  its  ways  unafraid  and  un- 
embarrassed by  any  complication.  Blessed  are 
those  who  are  not  too  meek,  for  they  shall  take 
their  own  share  of  the  earth  without  waiting 
forever  to  inherit  it.  Go  forth  and  take  yours. 
You '11  like  it." 

"I  love  it!  And  I'm  not  afraid  of  it  any 
more." 

"It'd  better  be  afraid  of  you,"  commented 
Gloria,  regarding  the  vivid,  youth-flushed 
creature  before  her.  "Wait  till  I  get  you  dressed 
up  to  your  looks !  Are  you  ready  to  gird  on  your 
armor  for  the  campaign?" 

"I'm  dying  with  impatience!" 

"We'll  have  a  taxi  by  the  hour  and  go  forth 
to  wallow  in  clothing.  Oh,  my  blessed  young 

131 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

protegee,  but  you  're  going  to  make  some  trouble 
for  this  neglectful  old  world  of  ours  before  you 
wither,  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

"I  shan't,"  returned  the  girl  demurely,  but 
with  dancing  eyes,  "unless  it  calls  me  'Poor 
Darcy.'" 


Chapter  IX 

WHILE  life  and  the  lust  of  lovely  things 
remain  to  Darcy  Cole,  she  will  not 
forget  the  thrilling  experience  of  that  day  and 
other  shopping  days  to  follow.  When  it  was  all 
over  she  possessed : 

Item :  A  dark-blue  serge  business  suit,  cut 
with  a  severity  of  line  which  on  a  less  graciously 
girlish  figure  would  have  been  grim,  with  a 
small,  trim,  expensive  hat  and  the  smartest  of 
tan  shoes  and  tan  gloves.  Clad  in  that  Darcy 
suggested  a  demure  and  business-like  bluebird. 

Item :  A  black-and-white  small-checked  suit 
with  just  a  little  more  latitude  of  character  to  it, 
and,  to  go  with  this,  black  patent-leather  shoes 
from  the  best  shop  in  town,  and  a  black  sailor 
hat,  with  a  flash  of  white  feather  in  it.  In  that 
Darcy  resembled  a  white-breasted  chat,  which 
is  perhaps  the  very  most  correct  and  smartest 
bird  that  flies. 

Item  —  several  items,  in  fact :  Wonderful  but 
unobvious  garments,  conjured  by  the  magic 
touch  of  Gloria  from  the  purchase  of  a  whole 
bolt  of  white,  filmy  crepe  de  chine  and  several 

133 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

bolts  of  baby-blue  ribbon,  together  with  well- 
chosen  odds  and  ends  of  laces;  no  less  wonder- 
ful, but  much  more  visible  negligees,  with  long, 
lustrous  rhythmical  lines,  devised  by  the  same 
Gloria  from  the  bargain  purchase  of  an  odd  lot 
of  pink  crepe  de  chine;  arrayed  in  which  Darcy 
was  able  to  give  herself  a  very  fair  imitation  of 
a  complacent  though  pale  flamingo. 

Item :  An  evening  gown  of  shimmering  silver 
and  blue,  carried  out,  in  the  curve  of  the  dain- 
tiest of  silk  stockings,  to  the  tip  of  fairy-gift  sil- 
ver slippers;  and  over  it  a  blue  velvet  wrap 
lined  and  trimmed  with  an  old  chinchilla  coat, 
which  Sensible  Auntie  had  given  her  several 
years  before;  wherein  Darcy  felt  like  some 
winged  and  shining  thing  come  down  from  a 
moonlit  cloud. 

That  was  the  end  of  eight  hundred  of  Aunt 
Sarah's,  hard,  round,  beautiful  dollars.  But  not 
of  the  wonderful  trip  to  Clothes-Land.. For,  at 
the  last,  Gloria  produced  the  most  stunning  of 
traveling  coats,  dark-blue  cheviot,  with  a  quaint 
little  cape,  the  whole  lined  with  silken  gray — 
a  gray  with  a  touch  of  under-color  to  match 
the  blue  warmth  behind  the  gray  of  Darcy's 
eyes. 

134 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"For  your  wedding  present,  my  dear,"  ex- 
plained Gloria  mischievously. 

And  when  the  girl  wept  for  sheer  delight,  her 
mentor  abused  her  and  called  her  "Amanda," 
and  threatened  her  with  dreadful  reprisals  un- 
less she  at  once  dried  her  eyes  so  that  account 
could  be  duly  taken  of  her.  Of  that  stock-taking 
Gloria,  re-creatrix,  made  no  report  to  the  sub- 
ject. But  this  is  what  her  gratified  eyes  saw. 

A  girl  who  held  herself  straight  like  an  Indian 
and  at  ease  like  an  animal.  Where  there  had 
been  sallow  cheeks  and  an  unwholesome  flabbi- 
ness,  the  blood  now  shone  in  living  pink  through 
the  lucent  skin.  The  eyes  were  twice  as  large  as 
when,  the  year  before,  Darcy  had  set  out  upon 
her  determined  beauty  quest;  but  that  was  be- 
cause the  sagging  lines  beneath  had  disappeared 
and  the  eyes  themselves,  deep  gray  against 
clear  white,  were  softly  brilliant  with  health. 
Above  the  broad,  smooth,  candid  forehead,  the 
hair,  so  deep  brown  as  to  be  almost  black,  played 
the  happy  truant  in  little  waves  and  whorls  as 
delicate  and  errant  as  blown  smoke.  The  chin 
was  set  and  firm  —  that  was  Andy  Dunne's  dis- 
cipline of  soul  and  body.  Above  it  the  mouth 
smiled  as  naturally  and  unconsciously  as  it  had 

135 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

formerly  drooped,  and  two  little  dimples  had 
come  to  live  in  the  corners.  Beyond  and  above 
the  sheer  formative  change  in  the  girl,  she  was 
so  pulsating,  so  palpitant  with  life  that,  even  as 
she  stood  quiescent  before  Gloria's  appraising 
eyes,  she  seemed  to  sway  to  some  impalpable 
rhythm  of  the  blood. 

Yet  Gloria  was  not  wholly  content.  Hers  was 
a  wisdom  that  went  deep.  The  re-created  Darcy 
was  a  notable  triumph,  to  be  sure;  looking  upon 
her  handiwork,  Gloria  found  it  good,  nor  did 
she  doubt  that  others  would  find  it  good.  But 
what  of  Darcy's  own  bearing  toward  all  these 
changes?  Had  she  found  herself?  Until  that 
question  was  settled  in  the  affirmative,  Gloria, 
re-creatrix,  would  not  be  satisfied. 

"Just  the  same  I  'd  like  to  see  Jack  Remsen 
or  any  other  man  look  at  her  as  she  is  now  once 
without  looking  twice,"  Gloria  challenged  the 
masculine  world  on  behalf  of  her  candidate  for 
troubles  and  honors  in  the  Great  Open  Lists. 

Not  men  alone,  but  women  as  well,  became 
addicted  to  that  second  look  when  Darcy  passed 
their  way  in  her  new  feathers.  To  her  house- 
mates the  change,  now  forced  upon  their  reluc- 
tant acceptance,  was  a  matter  of  bewilderment 

136 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

if  not  of  actual  perturbation.  Holcomb  Lee,  jus- 
tified of  his  prophecies,  exulted  over  the  fact  to 
such  a  point  that  Maud  Raines  felt  it  her  wo- 
manly duty  to  fix  a  quarrel  upon  him.  Undis- 
mayed, Holcomb  took  Darcy  out  to  dinner. 
("Never,  never,  never  in  the  world  would  I 
have  accepted,  Gloria,"  that  dangerous  young 
person  assured  her  mentor,  "  if  Maud  Raines 
had  n't  been  so  catty  and  sneery  about  Hoi- 
comb's  drawing  me.")  And  Miss  Raines  hastily 
drowned  her  trumped-up  grievance  in  a  flood  of 
alarmed  tears.  Even  matter-of-fact  Paul  Wood, 
Helen's  betrothed,  was  impressed  to  the  point 
of  admiring  comment. 

"That  chrysalis  has  hatched  for  fair,"  said 
he. 

"Hatched!"  retorted  Helen.  "It  didn't 
hatch.  It  exploded!" 

She  and  Maud  wished  to  know,  not  without 
asperity,  first  why  Darcy  was  getting  her  trous- 
seau in  advance  of  the  season;  next,  why  she 
was  wearing  it,  item  by  item.  Darcy  was  wear- 
ing the  unaccustomed  finery  for  a  perfectly 
sound  and  feminine  reason  which  she  did  not 
feel  called  upon  to  expound  for  the  enlighten- 
ment of  the  two  fiancees.  She  felt  taller, 

137 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

straighter,  and  more  independent  in  it.  More- 
over, she  found  it  a  business  asset.  Palpably 
affected  by  the  richness  and  variety  of  her 
wardrobe,  B.  Riegel  had  proffered  a  guarantee 
basis  of  work  which  assured  her  future  income." 
Thus  the  clothes  bade  fair  to  pay  for  them- 
selves. But  on  alternate  afternoons,  Darcy, 
faithful  to  her  training,  garbed  herself  in  rusty 
sweater,  short  skirt,  and  shapeless  shoes,  and 
did  her  stunt  through  Central  Park.  Her  term 
at  Andy's  academy  having  expired,  she  had 
taken  on  a  new  schedule  of  two  hours  per  week : 
that  being  all,  her  preceptor  assured  her,  that 
was  needed  for  the  preservation  of  her  fitness 
"  to  jump  in  the  ring  and  put  'em  up  with  the 
Big  Feller  himself  at  the  clang  of  the  bell."  A 
slight  exaggeration,  but  to  Darcy,  a  grateful 
one. 

With  ever-growing  approval,  Gloria  saw  the 
girl  accomplish  that  distinctively  feminine  feat 
known  as  "settling  into  your  clothes." 

"My  dear,"  she  remarked  one  day  when  the 
two  had  come  in  from  a  walk,  "  if  Monty  Veyze 
could  see  us  together  now,  I  would  n't  have  a 
chance  with  him." 

Darcy  grabbed  and  hugged  her.   "You're 

138 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

talking  nonsense,  and  you  know  it.  No  man  in 
the  world  would  look  at  me  if  you  were  in  the 
same  block." 

"Wouldn't  they!"  retorted  the  actress  un- 
grammatically. "  I  'd  hate  to  put  it  to  the  test  of 
a  regular  constituted  jury." 

"I'd  have  to  bar  Mr.  Remsen  from  the  jury 
box,"  smiled  Darcy. 

"Have  you  seen  Jack  again?" 

"Ran  into  him,  plop,  on  Fifth  Avenue  yes- 
terday." 

"Were  you  in  your  best  bib-and- tucker?" 

"The  black-and-white  check." 

"Did  he  look  through  you?"  asked  the  ac- 
tress. 

"N-not  exactly." 

"Did  he  look  past  you?"  asked  the  actress, 

"N-o-o-o." 

"Well,  did  he  look  at  you?"  she  persisted. 

"Yes.  But  he  did  n't  know  me." 

"I'm  sure  he  didn't,"  chuckled  Gloria. 
"Did  n't  you  bow  to  him?"  she  added.  "Next 
time  you  meet  a  nice  young  man  like  Jack 
Remsen,  you  march  straight  up  to  him  and  take 
him  by  the  beard  —  " 

"He  has  n't  got  a  beard." 

139 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"  —  metaphorically  speaking,  and  ask  him 
if  he  is  n't  ashamed  of  himself  for  not  remem- 
bering you.  He  will  be.  Oh,  never  fear  he  will 
be!" 

Darcy  pursed  her  red  lips  up  to  a  funny  little 
assumption  of  prudery.  "He'd  think  me  a  for- 
ward young  hussy." 

"Let  him.  You've  been  backward  long 
enough." 

"I  —  I  —  I  haven't  really  got  used  to  — 
to  the  new  feeling  yet,"  said  the  girl  shyly. 

"To  being  pretty?  Say  it  out.  It's  easy 
enough  to  get  used  to.  Just  feel  as  pretty  as  you 
look.  Go  on  a  perpetual  parade  until  you  learn 
the  right  kind  of  self-consciousness.  Being  a 
woman  is  an  asset,  not  a  liability  in  life.  When 
you've  absorbed  that  powerful  truth,  come  to 
me  and  I'll  impart  some  more  wisdom."  She 
fell  into  thought.  "Darcy,"  she  said  porten- 
tously. 

"Well?" 

"I've  got  a  grand  and  glorious  idea  for  a 
grand  and  glorious  feeling  —  like  Mr.  Briggs's." 

"Don't  keep  me  waiting.  I  can't  stand  sus- 
pense." 

"  I  'm  going  to  give  a  party  for  you,  with  the 
140 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

brides  for  side  dishes,  but  principally  to  cele- 
brate your  graduation." 

"Oh,  joy!  "cried  Darcy. 

Joy  proved  to  be  a  mild  and  inexpressive 
word  for  the  party.  So  far  as  Miss  Darcy  Cole 
was  concerned,  it  was  a  triumph.  The  two 
brides,  each  sufficiently  attractive  in  her  own 
type,  simply  paled  away  before  their  uncon- 
sidered  flat-mate.  Gloria  did  n't  pale  away.  No 
rivalry  could  shadow  her  superb  individuality. 
With  her  guest  of  honor  she  shared  the  laurels 
of  a  victorious  evening.  Stimulated  to  her  best 
self  by  the  realization  of  success,  conscious  of 
a  buoyant  body,  perfectly  clad,  and  a  soaring 
spirit,  Darcy  unwittingly  took  and  held  the  cen- 
ter of  the  stage,  into  which  Gloria  cunningly  and 
unobtrusively  maneuvered  her.  At  the  end  of 
the  long  night  of  fun,  Miss  Cole  sat  enthroned. 
Miss  Cole  had  sung  like  a  lark.  Miss  Cole  had 
danced  like  an  elf.  Miss  Cole  had  laughed  like 
a  spirit  of  mirth.  Miss  Cole  had  fairly  radiated 
a  wholesome,  keen,  full-blooded,  high-spirited 
gayety  and  happiness  shot  through  with  that 
indefinable  glow  of  womanhood  which  is  as 
mysterious  and  unmistakable  as  the  firefly's 
light  and  perhaps  as  unconsciously  purposeful. 

141 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

One  thing  only  detracted  from  Gloria 
Greene's  satisfaction  in  the  triumph  of  her 
protegee.  Jacob  Remsen  had  not  been  a  wit- 
ness to  it. 

Mr.  Remsen  was  in  retirement. 

"I  do  want  you  and  Jack  to  like  each  other," 
said  Gloria  to  Darcy,  in  the  inevitable  talk-over 
which  followed  the  grand  triumphal  party. 

"Of  course,"  returned  the  girl  softly  and 
warmly  regarding  her  friend.  "And  of  course 
I  'm  going  to  like  him  just  as  hard  as  ever  I  can, 
if  he '11  let  me." 

"For  your  sake"  was  the  implication  of  that 
warmth,  which  would  have  considerably  as- 
tonished Gloria  had  she  appreciated  it.  But  how 
should  she  know  the  interpretation  given  by  the 
girl  to  that  casual  kiss  overseen  in  the  studio? 
Gloria's  mind  was  running  in  quite  a  different 
direction. 

Sequels  to  the  party  and  to  Darcy's  success 
were  promptly  manifested  in  the  form  of  sundry 
boxes  and  parcels  bearing  fashionable  trade 
insignia  which  flowed  in  upon  Bachelor-Girls' 
Hall.  But  not  for  Miss  Raines  or  Miss  Barrett. 
Out  of  her  sumptuous  surplus,  Miss  Cole  was 
pleased  to  present  a  dozen  American  Beauty 

142 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

roses  to  Miss  Raines  and  a  five-pound  box  of 
"special"  candies  to  Miss  Barrett,  explaining 
kindly  that  she  could  not  possibly  use  them 
herself.  That  was  the  glory-crowned  summit  of 
a  delicate  revenge,  long  overdue.  "Poor  Darcy," 
indeed ! 

So  Darcy  came  into  her  own.  One  year  Gloria 
had  given  her.  The  year  had  not  yet  gone.  But 
most  of  Aunt  Sarah's  gift  had.  Who  cared?  Not 
Darcy.  She  had  won  her  heritage  of  woman- 
hood. Where,  a  few  brief  months  before  —  and 
she  could  laugh  now  at  the  pangs  and  hardships 
of  those  months  which  were  so  small  a  price  to 
pay  for  the  results !  —  she  had  looked  a  worn 
thirty  years  old  and  felt  like  a  sapless  leaf,  she 
now  looked  a  budding  twenty  and  felt  like  a 
baby  with  a  drum. 

Life  was  her  drum. 

All  its  stirring  rataplan,  however,  could  not 
quite  drown  out  the  grim  voice  of  reckoning, 
which  spoke  with  the  accent  of  Sir  Montrose 
Veyze,  Bart.,  of  Veyze  Holdings,  Hampshire, 
England. 


Chapter  X 

FIVE  times  Mr.  Thomas  Harmon  vainly 
rang  the  bell   of    the   Remsen   mansion. 
While  engaged  upon  the  sixth  variation  he  be- 
came aware  of  a  face  in  the  window,  scrutiniz- 
ing him. 

"All  right,"  called  the  face. 

Mr.  Harmon  was  then  admitted  through  a 
crack  scarcely  adequate  to  his  well-set,  muscu- 
lar frame,  to  the  presence  of  Mr.  Jacob  Rem- 
sen, who  wore  an  expensive  dressing-gown  and 
an  expression  of  unutterable  boredom. 

"Laid  up?"  inquired  Mr.  Harmon,  shaking 
hands. 

"Bottled  up,"  answered  the  young  man 
gloomily. 

"Can  I  help?" 

"Possibly.  Did  you  ever  kill  a  subpoena- 
server?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Care  to  try?" 

"What  does  the  thing  look  like?" 

"Cast  your  eyes  toward  the  Avenue  and 
you'll  see  one." 

144 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Hm!  Not  much  to  look  at,  is  he?" 

"A  worse-looking  one  comes  on  at  ten  and 
stays  all  night." 

"I  see,"  said  the  visitor.  "It's  a  blockade." 

"Hard  and  fast." 

Among  Mr.  Harmon's  many  endearing  vir- 
tues is  this :  he  never  asks  questions  about  other 
people's  troubles.  He  now  busied  himself  in 
thought. 

"Have  n't  you  any  of  your  amateur  theatri- 
cal duds  here?"  was  the  outcome  of  his  cogita- 
tions. 

"All  of  'em." 

"Why  not  dress  a  part  and  walk  away  in- 
cognito ?  " 

"Oh,  certainly!"  assented  the  other  with  bit- 
terness. "Put  on  a  suit  of  tights  and  dive  out  of 
the  conservatory  window  disguised  as  Annette 
Kellerman,  I  suppose." 

"What's  the  matter  with  an  old  man  make- 
up and  the  front  door?" 

"Just  this.  Friend  Murphy  on  watch  hauls 
out  his  little  paper  and  on  the  chance  of  its 
being  me,  slaps  the  wrist  of  anybody  who  ap- 
pears on  those  steps.  He'll  do  it  to  you  when 
you  go  out." 

145 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"He  did  n't  when  I  came  in." 

"No,  he  would  n't,  coming  in." 

"Then  why  not  fool  him  by  coming  in?" 

"How  the  devil  can  I  come  in  without  going 
out?"  demanded  Mr.  Remsen  crossly,  for  con- 
finement was  beginning  to  tell  upon  his  equable 
disposition. 

"Simplest  thing  in  the  world  if  you'll  be 
guided  by  me." 

"Spill  it." 

"Merely  a  matter  of  distracting  Friend  Mur- 
phy's attention  for  ten  seconds.  At  the  end  of 
the  ten  seconds  you  will  be  seen  going  up  the 
steps  to  the  front  door.  Presently  you  will  be 
seen  coming  down  again,  unable  to  effect  an 
entrance  against  the  watchfulness  of  the  faith- 
ful Connor.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"I  get  you.  I'm  to  be  in  disguise.  But  how 
shall  we  get  the  process-server  off  guard?" 

"Leave  that  to  me." 

The  two  conspirators  elaborated  their  plan, 
built  it  up,  revised  it,  tested  it  at  every  point, 
and  pronounced  it  perfect. 

"But  we've  forgotten  one  point,"  said  Rem- 
sen at  the  end  of  the  discussion. 

"What's  that?" 

146 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Where  do  I  go  when  I  get  out?" 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"Anywhere  out  of  the  world." 

Mr.  Thomas  Harmon  submerged  himself  in 
thought  and  came  up  bearing  a  pearl  of  great 
price. 

"Keno!  I've  got  it.  Refuges  furnished  to 
order.  You've  never  been  to  my  place  in  the 
mountains,  have  you?" 

"No." 

"Boulder  Brook  on  Lake  Quam.  Plumb  in 
the  dead  center  of  nowhere.  Thirteen  miles 
from  a  railroad.  Fishing  and  hunting  on  the 
premises." 

"Reads  like  a  real-estate  man's  prospectus," 
observed  Remsen. 

"This  year,"  pursued  Harmon,  "I'm  keeping 
open  house  for  a  special  reason.  Two  fellows  I 
know  are  getting  married  to-morrow.  It's  a 
double  wedding.  It's  also  a  double  honeymoon. 
But  they  are  n't  onto  that  yet."  Harmon's  clear 
brown  eyes  twinkled.  "One  half  won't  know 
how  the  other  half  lives  till  they  get  there.  I  Ve 
loaned  the  place  to  both  couples  for  a  fortnight. 
It 's  a  dead  secret.  Neither  couple  knows  where 
the  other  is  going.  They're  on  oath." 

'47 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"They  won't  thank  you  when  they  meet 
across  the  dinner-table." 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  as  bad  as  that.  They'll  be  a 
mile  apart.  The  Lees  will  be  at  the  cottage. 
They  get  off  at  Meredith  and  go  in  on  the  truck. 
The  Woods  I'm  sending  to  the  Island.  They 
climb  out  at  Ashland  and  go  over  by  boat. 
Unless  they  all  happen  to  take  the  same  train, 
one  pair  won't  even  know  the  other  is  around 
until  they  meet  up  on  the  lake  or  in  the 
woods." 

"Sounds  like  a  party." 

"Does  n't  it?  Want  to  join?" 

"What?  Butt  in  on  a  double  bridal  tour? 
Excuse  me  with  thanks." 

"No  butt  in  about  it.  You  can  go  to  Laconia, 
get  yourself  a  car  from  the  garage,  and  motor  to 
the  Bungalow.  That's  at  the  third  corner  of  my 
little  triangular  piece  of  mountain  and  forest. 
By  the  practice  of  expert  woodcraft  and  dodging 
you  can  avoid  seeing  the  others." 

"Would  n't  know  them  if  I  did.  Any  other 
agreeable  surprises  about  the  resort?" 

"No.  Oh,  yes.  I  nearly  forgot.  There's  a  little 
friend  of  Gloria  Greene's.  Girl.  Tired  out.  Too 
much  gayety  or  something.  Don't  know  what  it 

148 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

is  or  who  she  is,  but  she's  up  against  it  for  a 
month's  rest.  So  Miss  Greene  wished  her  on 
Boulder  Brook,  and  welcome." 

"Where  does  she  go?"  inquired  Remsen  sus- 
piciously. "To  the  Cave?  Or  the  Castle  on  the 
Crags?  Or  the  Haunted  Manor  House?  Or  the 
Co-educational  Club?  Or  which  one  of  the 
numerous  institutions  you  maintain  in  your 
private  city?" 

"She  goes  to  the  Farmhouse.  Mrs.  Bond,  my 
housekeeper,  is  looking  after  her.  Seclusion  is 
her  watchword.  If  you  see  her,  make  a  noise 
like  a  dry  leaf  and  blow  away.  You  '11  go,  won't 
you?" 

Remsen  meditated.  "It  certainly  seems  made 
to  order.  And  it's  mighty  good  of  you,  old  man. 
Yes,  I'll  just  take  you  up  on  that." 

"There's  a  train  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. To-morrow?" 

"Make  it  the  day  after.  I've  got  some  things 
to  attend  to." 

"Now,  about  our  jail-breaking  scheme?  I've 
got  an  amendment.  How  would  it  be  if  the  taxi 
I  arrive  in  should  catch  fire  at  the  psychological 
moment?" 

"Can  it  be  done?" 

149 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Easily.  I  'm  not  a  manufacturer  of  chemicals 
for  nothing." 

"Great!  Keep  it  going  for  ten  seconds  for  the 
benefit  of  the  watchful  Murphy,  and  if  you  look 
up  after  that,  you  '11  see  the  Englishest  looking 
Englishman  you  ever  sat  eyes  on  outside  the 
pages  of  Punch,  trying  to  tear  my  old-fashioned 
doorbell  out  by  the  roots." 

"That's  your  best  make-up,  is  it,  Remsen?" 

"As  good  as  any.  Fortified  by  my  accent,  it 
is  most  convincing.  That'll  be  Carteret." 

"Who?" 

"Rodney  Carteret." 

"Am  I  supposed  to  know  him?" 

"Rather.  Not  know  a  man  with  whom  you 
toured  for  two  months  in  Japan? "  said  Remsen 
reproachfully. 

"Stupid  of  me,"  confessed  Harmon,  grin- 
ning. "Carteret.  Good  old  Roddy!  Certainly. 
Then  I  'd  better  capture  you  —  him,  I  mean, 
and  take  him  to  the  nine  o'clock  train  for  Boul- 
der Brook,  in  my  taxi." 

"Right-o,  old  thing!  Be  here  at  eight-thirty. 
Cheery-o!"  said  his  host  Britishly. 

Promptly  at  that  hour,  on  the  second  morn- 
ing thereafter,  a  taxicab  swerved  violently  into 

150 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  curbstone  almost  at  the  feet  of  the  patient 
and  vigilant  Murphy,  and  stopped  with  an 
alarming  scrunch  of  brakes.  From  its  window 
emerged  a  heavy  puff  of  smoke.  From  its  door 
emerged  Mr.  Thomas  Harmon,  who  rolled  upon 
the  pavement  apparently  strangling.  Mr.  Mur- 
phy rushed  to  his  aid.  When  he  was  restored  to 
his  feet  and  his  breath,  and  the  taxi  had  ceased 
to  imitate  Fafnir  the  Dragon,  a  tall  figure  in  an 
extremely  English  ulster  (which  had  hastily 
emerged  from  the  Remsen  front  door,  rushed 
down  ten  steps,  and  leisurely  climbed  them 
again)  was  wrenching  violently  at  the  bell.  For  a 
time  Mr.  Murphy  regarded  him  disdainfully, 
then  crossed  over,  held  brief  colloquy,  and  re- 
turned. 

"Hot  chance  he's  got  of  breaking  in,"  he 
observed  to  Mr.  Harmon. 

"What  is  he  making  all  the  fuss  about?"  in- 
quired that  gentleman  as  the  visitor  again 
applied  himself  forcefully  to  the  bell. 

"Wants  to  see  Mr.  Remsen.  But  the  old 
bulldog  of  a  butler  won't  let  him  put  his  nose 
inside  the  door.  Says  his  name  is  Carteret,  and 
he 's  come  all  the  way  from  England  to  see  him." 

"England?  Not  Roddy  Carteret!"  It  was 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

done  almost  as  well  as  that  accomplished  actor, 
Mr.  Jacob  Remsen,  could  have  done  it.  Harmon 
sprang  across  the  street. 

"Carteret!  Roddy  Carteret!"  he  called. 
"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  over  here?" 

The  bell-ringer  adjusted  a  monocle  and  am- 
bled down  the  steps  to  shake  hands.  "Well  met, 
m'deah  fellah!  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  what's 
amiss  with  this  beastly  house." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  proffered  the  obliging  and 
innocent  Mr.  Murphy.  He  did  so. 

"Then  I  '11  just  go  back  and  jolly  well  camp 
there  till  somebody  jolly  well  lets  me  in,"  de- 
cided the  caller. 

Argument  followed  while  the  chauffeur  bur- 
rowed into  the  mechanism  of  his  car.  It  ended 
by  the  Englishman  bestowing  two  dollars  upon 
Mr.  Murphy  to  get  a  message  to  Mr.  Remsen 
containing  a  protest  and  an  address.  The  two 
gentlemen  then  moved  away  in  the  extin- 
guished taxi. 

Tickets  had  been  provided  by  the  fore- 
thoughtful Harmon.  The  fugitive  was  the  first 
man  in  the  parlor  car.  Hardly  had  he  settled 
when  a  young  couple  in  suspiciously  new  ap- 
parel arrived,  and  were  shown  into  Drawing- 

152 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Room  "A,"  at  the  upper  end  of  the  car.  Shortly 
after,  another  couple,  also  glistening  as  to  garb, 
entered  and  took  possession  of  Drawing-Room 
"B,"  at  the  lower  end  of  the  car.  The  eluder  of 
justice  eyed  them  and  drew  his  own  conclu- 
sions. 

"Here  we  are,  all  of  us,"  he  said  to  himself, 
retiring  discreetly  behind  his  newspaper. 

This  was  just  one  short  of  the  full  and  fateful 
facts. 


Chapter  XI 

GONE  into  the  dim  recesses  of  the  past 
was  the  nuptial  day  of  October  15.  Gone 
also,  into  what  dim  recesses  their  erstwhile 
flat-mate  knew  not,  were  Mrs.  Holcomb  Lee, 
nee  Maud  Raines,  and  Mrs.  Paul  Wood,  nee 
Helen  Barrett.  Presently  Darcy  would  be  gone 
also,  for  this  was  October  17,  and,  although  the 
fact  had  been  successfully  concealed  from  the 
society  editors  of  the  metropolis,  ever  avid  of 
news  with  a  title  in  it,  on  October  16  she  had 
been  married  to  Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  of  Veyze 
Holdings,  Hampshire,  England,  at  the  Church 
of  the  Imagination.  Sir  Montrose  had  sent  a 
wireless  (forged  by  Miss  Gloria  Greene)  advis- 
ing his  fiancee  that  he  would  arrive  on  the  i6th, 
and  they  would  be  married  at  once.  All  of  which 
would  have  profoundly  astonished  and  perhaps 
scandalized  the  authentic  Sir  Montrose  Veyze, 
at  that  particular  time  huddled  over  an  insuffi- 
cient stove  and  fervently  cursing  a  Siberian 
northeaster  with  three  feet  of  snow  in  its  clouds. 
No  little  strategy  had  been  required  to  keep 
up  the  deception  until  after  the  real  brides  were 

154 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

wedded,  and,  as  the  conspirators  supposed, 
safely  out  of  the  way.  Gloria  supplied  the  re- 
quired strategy,  but  it  exhausted  her  store. 
What  was  going  to  be  the  outcome  she  knew  no 
more  than  Darcy  did.  One  fact  only  was  clear: 
Darcy  must  disappear  for  a  while.  Accordingly 
the  self-appointed  manageress  of  the  affair  had 
borrowed  Tom  Harmon's-  hospitality  for  her 
protegee.  Unfortunately,  or  fortunately  accord- 
ing to  the  point  of  view,  Mr.  Harmon  had 
refrained  from  mentioning  to  Gloria  the  other 
prospective  visits. 

Behold,  then,  on  the  fateful  iyth  of  October, 
Miss  Darcy  Cole,  a  one-day  bride  of  fancy, 
swinging  down  the  long  platform  of  the  Grand 
Central  Terminal  with  fifteen  minutes  to  spare 
for  the  nine  o'clock  train.  In  her  hand  was  a 
ticket  to  Weirs,  and  a  small  green  slip  entitling 
her  to  seat  No.  12  in  the  parlor  car  "Chorea." 
In  her  eyes  was  a  twinkling  and  perilous  light, 
and  in  her  heart  a  song  of  sheer,  happy  bravado. 
For  Darcy  was  feeling  in  reckless  spirits.  It  was 
her  first  vacation  for  more  than  a  year.  She  was 
tingling  with  health  and  vitality.  She  rejoiced 
in  that  satisfaction,  more  precious  to  woman 
than  rubies  or  diamonds  or  a  conscience  clear 

155 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

of  reproach,  the  pervading  sense  of  being  per- 
fectly dressed.  As  for  the  wraith  of  Sir  Mon- 
trose  Veyze,  Bart.,  of  Veyze  Holdings,  Hamp- 
shire, England,  and  all  the  consequences  de- 
pending therefrom,  she  was  much  in  the  mood 
to  twiddle  her  thumbs  at  the  whole  affair  and 
defy  fate  to  do  its  worst. 

She  entered  the  car  and  saw  him. 

If  ever  a  willful,  skillful,  careful,  circumstan- 
tial lie  came  to  life  and  embodiment  for  the  pur- 
pose of  confronting  its  perpetrator,  hers  stood 
before  her  with  a  monocle  in  its  eye.  In  every 
detail  it  was  as  she  had  conceived  Sir  Montrose 
Veyze:  tall,  slender,  clad  in  impeccable  tweeds, 
with  an  intelligent,  thin  face  inappropriately 
half-framed  in  side  whiskers,  and  an  expression 
of  dissociation  with  the  outside  world;  not  so 
much  conscious  aloofness  as  a  sort  of  habitual 
mental  absenteeism.  The  apparition  was,  at 
the  moment,  trying  to  dispose  an  extremely 
British  ulster  in  a  rather  insufficient  rack. 

Darcy  stared  at  it,  mute  with  amazement. 
It  moved  a  little  to  let  her  pass  and  what  the 
girl  saw  beyond  it  froze  her  blood.  In  Drawing- 
Room  A  sat  Paul  Wood  and  his  bride! 

Flight,  instant  and  precipitate,  was  Darcy's 

156 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

one  idea;  flight  forth  from  that  unchancy  car. 
She  whirled  around,  started  for  the  lower  exit, 
took  three  steps  and  halted  with  a  choked  cry. 

In  Drawing-Room  B  sat  Maud  Raines,  that 
was,  with  her  bridegroom. 

Fate,  defied,  had  promptly  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge. Darcy  was  trapped. 

Kentucky  cherishes  a  legend  concerning  the 
potency  of  its  moonshine  whiskey  which  is  said 
to  be  such  that  one  drink  of  it  will  inspire  a 
rabbit  to  spit  in  the  eye  of  a  bulldog.  Despera- 
tion will  produce  much  the  same  psychological 
effect  in  the  soul  of  woman.  There,  in  monocle 
and  whiskers,  was  Darcy's  bulldog.  And  before 
her  and  behind  her  threatened  Desperation, 
double-barreled.  Darcy  took  a  short,  gaspy 
breath  —  it  was  all  she  could  get  —  and  ad- 
vanced upon  her  unwitting  victim. 

The  apparition  had  just  succeeded  in  its 
aerial  enterprise  with  the  ulster  when  it  became 
aware  of  a  mute  appeal  at  its  elbow.  It  turned. 
It  saw  a  girlish  face,  suffused  with  a  wonderful 
warmth  of  color,  clear,  steady  eyes,  with  an 
irresistible  plea  in  them;  lips  that  looked  both 
firm  and  soft  and  were  tremulous  at  the  corners 
with  what  might  be  fear,  but  seemed  much  like 

157 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

mirth,  and  two  perfectly  gloved  little  hands 
stretched  out  in  welcome.  No  possible  doubt 
about  it;  those  hands  were  held  out  to  the 
apparition. 

The  apparition's  face  underwent  a  sort  of 
junior  earthquake.  Its  monocle  fell  out.  It  re- 
placed the  doubtful  aid  to  vision.  It  contem- 
plated the  creature  of  bewildering  charm  and 
still  more  bewildering  behavior  confronting  it. 
Hesitatingly  its  hands  went  forth  to  meet  those 
little,  appealing,  waiting  hands. 

"Monty!"  said  the  girl  in  a  clear,  ringing, 
happy  voice,  and  inexpertly  kissed  the  appari- 
tion on  the  nose. 

"Holy  Snakes!"  gasped  the  apparition. 

It  took  a  step  backward.  Its  knees  caught. 
It  collapsed  in  its  chair. 


Chapter  XII 

AFTER  that  one  exclamatory  lapse  from 
Briticism,  the  tweed-clad  man  sat  speech- 
less, struggling  to  regain  command  over  his 
shattered  sensibilities.  In  this  laudable  endeavor 
he  was  severely  handicapped  by  his  vis-d-vis. 
She  had  turned  the  chair  next  his  and  was  now 
seated  facing  him  with  parted  lips,  fluttering 
color,  and  lovely,  desperate,  suppliant  eyes, 
a  picture  to  divert  the  most  determined  attempt 
at  concentration. 

"Please!  Please,"  she  implored,  like  a  child, 
holding  out  her  small,  quivering  hands  to  him. 
"Won't  you  speak  to  me?" 

"Why  —  er  —  to  be  sure!  To  be  sure!  What 
shall  I  say,  for  choice?" 

"Anything.  Weather.  Politics.  'Shakespeare 
and  the  musical  glasses.'  Only,  talk!" 

"  But  I  'm  afraid  —  er  —  there 's  some  beastly 
mistake,  you  know." 

"Pretend  it  is  n't,"  she  urged.  "Oh,  help  me 
pretend  it  is  n't." 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  clicking  latch  back 
of  her,  and  the  tension  of  the  girl's  face  relaxed 

159 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

a  little.  A  second  click  in  front  indicated  a  sim- 
ilar closure  of  Drawing-Room  B. 

Darcy  took  a  long  breath.  No  longer  under 
observation,  she  enjoyed  a  truce  in  which  to 
lay  her  plans.  Incidentally  she  did  her  newly 
wed  friends  the  gross  injustice  of  rejoicing  that 
Pullman  doors  have  no  keyholes. 

"Now  I  can  explain,"  said  she  composedly. 

"Pray  do."  There  was  lively  interest  in  his 
tone. 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  I  can,  either.  I'm 
afraid  you  won't  understand." 

"Give  me  a  sporting  chance  at  it." 

How  very  English  he  was!  Had  he  been 
American,  she  might  have  appealed  to  his  sense 
of  the  jocular  and  absurd.  No  hope  with  this 
ultra-British  solemnity. 

"Well,"  she  began  desperately,  "there  are 
some  people  in  this  car  that  I  don't  want  to 


see." 


;  In  the  —  er  —  compartment  ? " 

;  In  both  compartments.  And  they  must  n't 


see  me." 


'Quite  so." 

'But  they've  already  seen  me." 
'Awkward,  that,"  he  murmured. 
160 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Not  so  awkward  as  if  they'd  seen  me  alone. 
They've  seen  us.  Together." 

"But  —  er — it's  no  end  nice  of  you,  you 
know,  and  —  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But 
why  together?" 

"That's  what  I'm  trying  to  explain."  She 
looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "  I  'm  finding  it  rather 
hard." 

"Perhaps  you're  not  supposed  to  be  travel- 
ing alone,"  he  suggested. 

"Now,  that's  quite  clever  of  you!"  Darcy 
beamed  gratitude  upon  him.  "I'm  not.  But  I 
started  alone  and  —  and  — 

"You  were  to  meet  a  —  a  companion  who 
failed  you?"  He  was  really  striving  to  be  help- 
ful, but  Darcy  felt  herself  getting  in  deeper  and 
deeper. 

"No:  that  is  n't  it,  at  all." 

"Then  —  er — I  may  be  beastly  stupid, 
but — er — really — "  Blank  bewilderment  was 
expressed  in  every  feature  of  his  face  including 
the  monocle. 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  the  girl  politely.  "No 
wonder  you  find  it  puzzling.  It's  quite  in- 
volved." Then  she  took  the  plunge.  "I'm  elop- 
ing." 

161 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Eloping?"  Her  vis-d-vis  dropped  his  mono- 
cle, replaced  it,  and  stared  at  Darcy.  "Eloping! 
Impossible!" 

"Why  impossible?  Don't  you  elope  in  Eng- 
land?" 

"Er  —  personally,  seldom.  And  never  alone." 

Was  there  a  twinkle  behind  the  monocle? 
Were  the  jokesmiths  wrong  about  the  English 
lack  of  humor?  Or  had  she,  happily,  encoun- 
tered a  phenomenon  ?  Darcy  embraced  the  hope 
and  changed  her  strategy  in  the  midst  of  the 
assault. 

"Here's  your  chance,"  she  said  with  calm 
effrontery.  "You  see,  my — the  other  person 
in  my  elopement  failed  to  live  up  to  his  oppor- 
tunity." 

Her  companion  was  understood  to  reflect 
adversely  upon  the  sanity  of  the  recreant. 

"So,"  pursued  the  girl,  her  color  flushing  and 
paling,  but  her  eyes  unflinchingly  steady,  "if 
you  would  —  oh,  please  don't  think  me  dread- 
ful! —  if  you  could  just  pretend  to  be  the  man! 
It's  only  for  a  little  while,"  she  pleaded.  "Just 
until  we  can  get  away  from  those  people.  Will 
you?" 

"I  will,"  he  said  solemnly. 

163 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  say  that  as  if  —  as  if 
we  were  in  church,"  protested  the  startled 
Darcy,  plaintively. 

"Ah,  yes;  by  the  way,  have  we  been?" 

"Have  we  been  what?" 

"To  church." 

"This  is  n't  Sunday." 

"No;  but  you  say  that  we  are  eloping." 

"Just  for  the  present." 

"Quite  so.  But  is  this — er — before  or  after?" 

"Before  or  —  Oh!!"  Comprehension  flooded 
the  girl's  mind  and  colored  her  cheeks  simul- 
taneously. "After,"  she  said,  in  a  small,  gaspy 
voice.  "We  —  we're  married." 

"Buck  up!" exhorted  her  companion.  "Don't 
take  it  so  hard.  It  will  soon  be  over.  I  merely 
wished  to  know,  in  case  any  question  arose. 
When?" 

"Ye  —  ye  —  yesterday.  I  mean,  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Best  stick  to  yesterday,"  he  advised  kindly. 
"Before  9  A.M.  is  too  early  for  probability." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

"You're  not  growing  faint  under  the  strain, 
I  hope?"  inquired  Darcy,  recovering  her  spirits. 

163 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"It  is  n't  that,"  he  replied  dreamily.  "I  am 
only  thinking  that  things  like  this  do  not  happen 
to  people.  I  shall  count  three,  and  if  you're  still 
there  I  shall  know  —  well,  I  shall  know  that 
my  mind  is  failing  —  and  be  glad  of  it." 

Darcy  began  rather  to  like  her  accomplice. 
He  was  really  quite  nice  —  though  old.  "Count 
ten,"  she  advised.  "It's  a  better  test." 

He  began  to  count  slowly,  and  an  elderly  lady 
who  came  down  the  aisle  to  take  the  chair 
opposite  hastily  sought  the  porter  with  a  view 
to  having  her  seat  changed.  When  he  had  de- 
claimed "Ten"  and  opened  his  eyes,  the  quite 
startling  exclamation  which  followed  convinced 
the  old  lady  that  her  caution  was  well  judged. 
The  enumerator  had  found  himself  facing 
emptiness. 

"Turn  around,"  directed  a  soft  voice  behind 
him. 

He  pivoted.  "Oh!"  he  exclaimed  in  the  most 
flattering  tones  of  relief. 

"The  door  of  Drawing-Room  B  was  getting 
nervous,"  she  said.  "So  I  changed.  I  don't 
want  them  to  catch  my  eye.  They  might  come 
out  to  speak  to  us." 

"Come  one,  come  all,"  declaimed  the  other; 
164 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"this  chair  shall  fly  from  its  firm  base  as  soon 
as  I." 

"Fine  poetry,"  granted  the  girl.  "But  this  is 
prose." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  if  you'll  pardon  me. 
Impossible  and  glorious  romance.  Words  by 
Lewis  Carroll.  Music  by  Lohengrin.  Mr.  Brit- 
ling  is  for  seeing  it  through." 

"Mr.  Britling — if  you're  sure  that  Mr. 
H.  G.  Wells  would  be  willing  to  lend  you  the 
name- 

" I'll  chance  it." 

"Then  Mr.  Britling  does  n't  know  his  part 
yet  and  might  get  poor  me  into  awful  difficul- 
ties. No,  we  must  get  out  of  this  car." 

"Stamford  the  next  stop,"  said  the  porter, 
who  had  overheard  in  passing. 

"Can  you  put  us  into  another  car?"  Darcy 
asked  him. 

"Farther  away  from  the  restaurant  car," 
added  her  companion,  and  she  thanked  him 
with  a  glance  for  his  shrewdness.  If  they  were 
between  the  "Chorea"  and  the  diner,  her 
friends  would  pass  them  at  luncheon-time. 

"Dey's  a  obsehvation  cah,  reah  cah,"  sug- 
gested the  porter.  "No  extra  change." 

165 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Darcy  immediately  rewarded  him  with  a 
dollar.  "If  any  one  inquires  about  us,"  she 
said,  "tell  them  that  we  got  off  at  New 
Haven." 

"Yassum.  What  name  please,  maddum?" 

"No  name.  The  lady  and  gentleman  in  14 
and  16." 

Fortune  had  left  vacant  for  their  coming  a 
semi-retired  alcove  in  the  observation  car. 
Therein  ensconced,  they  took  breath  and 
thought  and  stock  of  each  other. 

"Now,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  the  man. 
"Who  am  I?" 

"Your  name  is  Veyze,"  answered  the  girl, 
dimpling.  "You're  English.  You're  awfully 
English!  You're  as  English  as — as  yourself." 

"Happy  coincidence!  Mayn't  I  have  more 
than  one  name?" 

"A  full  allowance.  Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  of 
Veyze  Holdings,  Hampshire." 

"I  say!  Then  I've  come  into  the  title." 

"Quite  a  while  ago.  What  you  were  before 
your  succession,  you  know  better  than  I." 

He  caught  the  point.  "Rodney  Carteret,  at 
your  service,"  he  replied.  "Here  on  a  short 
stay.  Diplomatic  affairs." 

166 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Well,  Mr.  Carteret,  I'll  remember  you  for- 
ever, for  helping  me  out  of  an  awful  scrape.  It 
must  seem  dreadfully  flitter-headed  and  bad 
taste  and  ill-bred  — 

"I  can  imagine  you  being  flitter-headed  — 
odd  words  you  Americans  use  —  but  I  really 
can't  conceive  of  you  doing  anything  ill-bred 
or  in  bad  taste,"  said  he  with  such  sincerity 
that  the  girl  flushed  again. 

"That's  nice  of  you,"  she  responded  grate- 
fully, "considering  what  I've  done  to  you." 
Thereupon  she  proceeded  to  repay  his  courtesy 
by  a  tissue  of  fabrications  which  did  credit  to 
her  long  practice  in  mendacity. 

"You  would  n't  understand  our  American 
humor,"  she  wound  up;  "but  I  put  up  a  joke 
on  my  friends  in  the  other  car  by  pretending  I 
was  to  be  married  yesterday.  I  won't  bore  you 
with  the  circumstances.  I  was  going  away  for 
a  trip  all  by  my  little  self  and  they  were  to  think 
it  was  my  wedding  trip.  Who  would  have 
thought  there  could  be  such  awful  luck  as  to 
find  them  on  my  train  ?  And  me  without  a  ghost 
of  a  husband  to  show  on  my  honeymoon  — 
unt'i  I  grabbed  you!" 

"Then  you're  not  actually  married  or  be- 
167 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

trothed  or  anything  of  the  sort?"  he  inquired 
with  lively  hopefulness. 

"Oh,  but  I  am  engaged,"  she  answered,  re- 
verting to  her  original  fiction.  "My  fiance  is 
on  duty  and  can't  get  away.  As  soon  as  he 
comes  over  we're  to  be  married.  Now,  please, 
do  you  think  it's  very  awful?  You've  been  so 
good,  I  should  hate  to  have  you  despise  me." 

"Oh,  I'm  no  sort  of  a  despiser,"  he  assured 
her.  "And  if  I  felt  like  doing  a  bit  of  despising, 
I'd  go  out  in  the  woods  and  despise  a  toad. 
Certainly  I  should  n't  try  my  hand  on  any- 
thing as  plucky  and  resourceful  as  you." 

"Resourcefulness  is  good  as  far  as  it  goes," 
said  she.  "But  could  I  carry  the  thing  through 
if  my  friends  come  back  here  and  I  have  to 
present  you  ? " 

"I  should  n't  concern  myself  about  that,"  he 
comforted  her.  "Surely  they  won't  come." 

"Why  not?" 

"Bridal  touring  couples  don't  commonly  go 
about  seeking  other  companionship,  do  they?" 

Darcy  stared.  "How  do  you  know  they  are 
on  their  bridal  trip?  I  never  told  you." 

"Surmised  it  from  something  my  friend,  Mr. 
Thomas  Harmon  told  me." 

168 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Harmon?" 

"Rah-ther!  I'm  on  my  way  to  his  place." 

"What  place?"  gasped  Darcy. 

"Boulder  Brook,  he  calls  it.  It's  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  mountains." 

The  girl  leaned  back,  closed  her  eyes,  and 
began  to  count  slowly:  "One  —  two  —  •  three 

—  four—" 

"I  say,"  broke  in  the  partner  of  her  plot. 
"Let  a  chap  in  on  this.  What's  wrong?" 

"You  said  it  just  now:  'These  things  do  not 
happen  to  people.'  You  were  right.  They  don't. 
Anyhow,  they  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to.  Five 

—  six  —  seven  —  Oh,  there's  no  use  count- 
ing ten  on  this."  She  opened  her  great,  gray- 
blue  eyes  wide  upon  him.  "So'm  I,"  she  an- 
nounced. 


"Going  to  Boulder  Brook." 

Barely  in  time  did  he  check  the  natural 
rejoinder,  "  So  are  your  friends,  the  bridal 
couples,"  for  he  bethought  himself  that,  if  she 
knew,  she  would  doubtless  escape  from  the 
train  at  the  first  station  and  this  astounding 
and  priceless  adventure  would  be  abruptly  ter- 
minated. Instead  he  said: 

169 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"May  I  take  you  over  with  me?  I'm  having 
a  car  at  Laconia." 

"Mr.  Harmon  is  having  me  met  at  Weirs. 
Weirs  is  miles  nearer." 

"Then  perhaps  you  would  n't  mind  giving 
me  a  lift  with  you.  I  'm  for  the  Bungalow,  wher- 
ever that  is." 

"And  I  'm  for  the  Farmhouse,  and  the  chap- 
eronage  of  Mrs.  Bond.  So  it  is  n't  as  terribly 
compromising  as  it  sounds,  is  it?  Though  what 
in  the  world  Mr.  Harmon  would  think,  if  this 
ever  got  to  his  ears  — " 

"It  won't.  In  any  case,  Harmon  is  not  a 
thinker  of  evil." 

Nevertheless  the  girl  saw  trouble  in  his  eyes. 
Partly  it  was  her  innocence,  partly  the  bravado 
to  which  the  emergency  of  the  day  had  strung 
her,  which  kept  that  same  trouble  out  of  her 
own  eyes.  With  him  it  attained  speech. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

Across  his  shoulder  Darcy's  eye  caught  a 
number  on  the  paneled  side  of  the  car.  "Twen- 
ty-six," she  lied  promptly. 

He  was  taken  aback.  "Really!"  he  mur- 
mured. "I  should  have  said  —  aw  —  much 
younger.  Are  you  sure  you  appreciate  the  pos- 

170 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

sible — well  —  er  —  misconstructions  to  which 
this  visit  might  give  rise?" 

"I  don't  see  why  it  should,"  returned  Darcy 
stoutly.  "Anyway,  I  Ve  no  other  place  to  go." 

"But  I  could  put  off  my  trip." 

"That  would  be  a  nuisance  to  you,  would  n't 
it?" 

"To  be  quite  frank,  it  would  be  rather  more 
than  that.  I  should  risk  getting  caught." 

"Caught?"  echoed  Darcy  interestedly.  "It 
sounds  thrilling.  Are  you  a  fugitive  from  jus- 
tice?" 

"No.  I'm  a  fugitive  from  injustice.  See  here, 
Miss  Romancia,  I  'm  something  of  a  faker  my- 
self. Being  up  against  it  good,  I  'm  going  to  'fess 
up." 


It  t 


Taker'?    'Up    against   it'?   Why  —  why, 
where 's  your  English  accent  gone?" 

"Cut  out.  Pretty  soon  I'm  going  to  do  the 
same  with  these  whiskers.  They  tickle." 

So  many  surprises  had  been  forced  upon 
Darcy  that,  inured  to  them,  she  was  able  to 
sustain  this  one  unperturbed.  "It's  a  wonder- 
ful disguise,"  she  approved.  "And.  you  play 
the  part  beautifully.  But,  if  the  question  is  n't 
indiscreet,  why?" 

171 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"As  I  indicated,  I  'm  flying  for  my  life." 

"Then  I  hope  it's  something  thrilling  like 
murder  or  arson,  and  not  something  petty  like 
bigamy  or  fancy  finance." 

"Nothing  as  interesting  as  crime.  I  'm  wanted 
as  a  witness  in  a  will  case.  They're  trying  to 
catch  me  and  put  me  on  the  stand  and  make  me 
testify  that  my  great-uncle  was  a  crafty  and 
vicious  old  lunatic." 

"When  he  was  n't?  How  horrid!" 

"When  he  was.  That 's  horrider.  And  that 
others  of  my  relatives  were  roues  and  scandal- 
mongers and  drunkards." 

"I  seem  to  have  eloped  into  a  nice  cheerful 
sort  of  family,"  observed  the  girl. 

"It'll  be  a  lot  less  cheerful  if  they  ever  get 
me  on  the  stand.  My  lawyer  was  to  have 
warned  me  in  time  to  get  away,  but  the  other 
side  stole  a  march  on  him,  and  I  barely  managed 
to  sneak  out  in  this  disguise.  So  I  was  going  to 
lie  low  at  Harmon's  place  until  they  gave  up 
the  chase.  But  as  matters  are,  I  can  stick  to  my 
whiskers  and  my  accent  a  while  longer.  And, 
really,  much  as  I  should  like  to  continue  this 
prose  poem  of  ours,  I  think  that  for  the  sake  of 
—  well,  of  appearances,  I  'd  better  go  on  some- 

172 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

where  else.  Unless  you  're  quite  sure  that  Mrs. 
Bond  is  there  and — " 

"She  is,"  broke  in  Darcy.  "I've  had  a  tele- 
gram." 

"In  that  case — " 

"In  that  case,  you  come  along  in  the  car  with 
me.  I  won't  have  your  trip  spoiled.  Besides, 
don't  you  think  I  have  some  curiosity  in  my 
make-up  ?  I  Ve  got  to  see  you  without  yours,  or 
perish!" 

There  was  no  irruption  of  the  newly-weds 
to  complicate  matters.  The  pseudo-weds  had 
sandwiches  and  ginger  ale  in  the  observation 
car  and  sat  there  getting  better  acquainted 
and  more  content  with  each  other  until  the 
"Chorea's"  porter  sought  them  out. 

"Drawin'-rooms  is  bofe  gone,"  he  said.  "A 
got  off  at  Ashlan'  an'  B  lef  at  Meredith.  S'pi- 
cioned  you-all  might  lak  to  know." 

His  suspicion  brought  its  reward.  Ten  min- 
utes before  the  arrival  at  Weirs,  Darcy's  con- 
federate excused  himself. 

"You  get  out  by  yourself,"  he  said.  "I'll  join 
you  on  the  platform." 

Not  yet  comprehending,  she  followed  instruc- 
tions. Shortly  after,  there  descended  in  front  of 

173 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  jaw-loose  and  petrified  porter  the  ultra- 
British  ulster,  and  the  forceful  tweed  suit,  en- 
closing not  a  bewhiskered,  monocled,  and  blond 
Englishman,  but  a  smooth-faced,  pleasant-vis- 
aged  young  man  who  looked  out  upon  the 
world  from  his  own  unaided,  keen,  and  twink- 
ing  eyes. 

As  the  train  pulled  out  with  the  porter  still 
bulging,  incredulous,  from  the  door,  the  change- 
ling turned  to  join  his  self-appointed  bride. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Remsen?"  said  she. 

For  the  second  time  that  day  sheer  amaze- 
ment loosed  the  hinges  of  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen's 
knees,  and  the  wellsprings  of  Mr.  Jacob  Rem- 
sen's sincere  American  speech. 

"Well,  I  am  jiggered!"  gasped  Mr.  Jacob 
Remsen,  tottering  back  against  a  truck. 


Chapter  XIII 

MR.  JACOB  REMSEN,  late  Rodney  Car- 
teret,  Esq.,  of  Somewhere-in-England, 
was  roused  from  his  semi-paralysis  by  a  broad 
and  bearded  native  who  approached,  and,  with 
a  friendly  grin,  inclusive  of  both  parties  to  the 
vis-d-vis,  inquired : 

"Either  of  yeh  Miss  Cole  for  Boulder  Brook ? " 

"Both,"  said  Darcy. 

"Haw!"  barked  the  native. 

"That  is,  we  are  both  going  to  Mr.  Har- 


mon's." 


"Free  bus  to  Boulder  Brook,"  proclaimed 
the  humorous  native.  "It's  jest  as  well  there 's 
two  of  ye,  though  Mr.  Tom  did  n't  say  nothin' 
about  more  'n  one.  Ye  won't  rattle  s'  much 
when  we  hit  the  rocks." 

"I  joined  the  party  at  the  last  moment,"  ex- 
plained the  impromptu  bridegroom.  "I'm  for 
the  Bungalow." 

"Ye '11  be  there  before  ye  know  it.  Twenty- 
one  mile  in  twenty-eight  minutes,  comin'  over 
in  the  ole  boat." 

Their  cicerone  led  the  way  to  "the  ole  boat," 

175 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

a  large,  battered,  comfortably  purring  car, 
tucked  them  in  with  many  robes,  and  applied 
himself  to  the  wheel  with  an.  absorption  which 
left  them  free  to  resume  their  own  concerns. 
The  surrounding  mountains  were  in  full  pan- 
oply of  their  blazing  October  foliage,  a  scene 
to  enthrall  the  dullest  vision.  Notwithstanding, 
Mr.  Remsen's  eyes  kept  straying  from  those 
splendors  to  the  face  of  his  companion.  Attrac- 
tive though  this  nearer  view  was,  his  own  face 
wore  the  expression  of  one  who  painfully  seeks 
the  answer  to  an  insoluble  riddle.  The  girl  an- 
swered his  look  with  challenging  mockery. 

"Don't  overheat  your  poor  brain  about  it," 
she  implored. 

"He  called  you  Miss  Cole,"  said  Remsen, 
with  furrowed  brows. 

"Why  not,  since  it's  my  name?" 

"Cole?  Cole!"  ruminated  her  companion. 
"No.  Positively  no!" 

"Positively,  yes!  Do  you  think  it's  quite 
gallant  in  you  to  forget  me  entirely." 

"First  you  say  I'm  your  husband,"  com- 
plained Remsen,  "  and  now  you  claim  acquain- 
tance with  me.  It  is  n't  fair.  It  muddles  one's 
brain." 

176 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Look  at  me  hard." 

"I've  been  doing  that  all  day." 

"But  it  does  n't  seem  to  have  any  result. 
Have  n't  you  ever  seen  me  before?" 

"Certainly." 

Darcy  almost  jumped.  "Which  time?  I 
mean,  where?" 

"On  the  northeast  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Fiftieth  Street,  at  2.30  P.M.  September  nth," 
returned  the  other,  as  one  who  recites  a  well- 
conned  lesson.  "You  were  looking  up  at  an 
aeroplane  and  ran  into  me.  You  wore  a  black- 
and-white  checked  suit  and  a  most  awfully 
smart  little  hat,  and  I  stood  there  gawking  after 
you  until  I  was  in  danger  of  being  arrested  for 
obstructing  the  traffic." 

"Why?" 

"Frankly,  because  I  had  n't  seen  anything 
quite  like  you  since  I  landed,  and  I  wanted  to 
make  the  most  of  a  poor  opportunity." 

"Then  why  did  n't  you  lift  your  hat  politely 
and  say,  'How  do  you  do,  Miss  Cole?'  Like 
that." 

"Because,  by  Heavens!"  cried  the  badgered 
Remsen,  "I  don't  know  any  Miss  Cole." 

"Think  again,"  adjured  Darcy.  "There  was 
177 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

a  blowy,  windy  day  on  a  Fifth  Avenue  coach 
when  you  got  off  to  help  a  woman  with  a  suit- 
case— " 

"Full  of  burglar's  tools  or  solid  gold  ingots,  I 
don't  know  which.  Never  thought  a  suitcase 
could  weigh  so  much ! " 

"Poor  Mr.  Remsen!"  laughed  the  girl,  but 
her  eyes  were  soft  as  she  turned  them  to  him. 
"You  must  have  been  terribly  bored.  But  you 
were  game.  You  did  n't  see  me  on  the  coach?" 

"I  did  n't  notice  any  one  but  the  two  work- 
ing-girls with  the  suitcase.  Do  you  think  I  could 
have  seen  you  and  forgotten  you  ? " 

"Be  careful!  You're  only  making  it  worse. 
One  of  the  two  working-girls  called  after  you 
to  thank  you,  did  n't  she?" 

Remsen  fell  suddenly  thoughtful.  "Now  I 
recall,  the  voice  did  seem  familiar.  But  — 
surely — " 

"Perhaps  this  will  help."  She  hummed  softly 
a  passage  of  the  lulling,  lilting  song  which  she 
had  heard  from  his  lips  on  that  memorable  day 
of  her  great  resolve. 

"Wait!"  he  cried.  "I'm  getting  it!  Gloria 
Greene's  studio.  A  girl  asleep  on  the  divan, 
while  I  was  playing.  She  corrected  a  change  of 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

chord  for  me.  But  —  you !  Never  tell  me  that 
was  you!" 

"Darcy  Cole,  at  your  service." 

"Well  —  well,  but,"  stammered  Remsen,  for 
once  in  his  life  wholly  confused  and  bewildered. 
"What  were  you  in  disguise  for?" 

"I  was  n't." 

"Then  I  must  have  been  stone  blind  that 
day!" 

"You  had  no  eyes  at  all  —  for  me,"  said  she 
demurely.  "However,  that's  not  to  be  won- 
dered at." 

"If  it  were,  somebody  else  would  have  to  do 
the  wondering.  My  capacity  in  that  direction 
is  totally  exhausted.  Won't  you  please  ex- 
plain?" 

"With  pleasure.  If  you'll  tell  me  what." 
Miss  Cole  was  enjoying  herself  greatly. 

"What  this  transformation  scene  means?  At 
the  studio  you  were,  well  — " 

"Say  it,"  she  encouraged.  "I  was  an  ugly 
little  toad." 

Remsen  made  gestures  and  gurgles  of  violent 
protest.  "Not  at  all!  But  you  were  —  well, 
quite  different." 

"Yes,  I  was  n't  very  well.  Nor  very  happy." 

179 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Judging  from  appearances,  you  must  be 
about  the  healthiest  and  happiest  person  in  the 
world  to-day,  then,"  he  retorted. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  reproved,  "that  your 
compliments  lack  subtlety?" 

"That 's  easy.  Because  I  mean  'em." 

The  native  at  the  wheel  made  a  quarter  turn 
with  his  head,  extended  his  mouth  to  a  point 
east  by  north  of  his  right  ear,  and  from  the  cor- 
ner of  it  shouted:  "Set  tight.  Here 's  where  she 
gits  kinder  streaky." 

Thereupon,  as  at  a  signal  call,  the  car  gath- 
ered itself  together  and  proceeded  to  emulate 
the  chamois  of  the  Alps.  For  several  frantic 
leaps  and  jounces  the  couple  in  the  back  seat 
preserved  the  conventionalities.  Then  came  a 
stretch  where  an  ancient,  humpbacked  vein  of 
granite  had  thrust  itself  up  through  the  road's 
surface,  and  all  decorum  was  flung  to  the  winds. 
Miss  Cole  crossed  the  car  in  two  bunny-jumps 
and  fell  upon  Mr.  Remsen's  neck,  thrusting  his 
head  against  the  side  curtain  with  such  force  as 
to  form  a  bulge,  which  several  outreaching  trees 
playfully  poked  with  their  branches.  As  further 
evidence  of  her  affection,  she  stuck  her  elbow  in 
his  eye,  after  which  she  coyly  retreated  into  her 

l8o 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

own  corner  by  the  aerial  route.  Mr.  Remsen  as- 
sisted her  flight  by  a  method  known  in  football 
as  "giving  the  shoulder."  He  then  rose  to  ex- 
plain, settled  squarely  upon  both  her  feet,  and 
concluded  the  performance  by  seating  himself 
on  her  knees  and  browsing  a  mouthful  from  the 
veil  which  was  twisted  about  her  hat.  Taking 
advantage  of  a  precious  but  fleeting  moment 
when  the  car  soared  like  a  gull  across  a  bay  of 
mud,  they  both  addressed  the  chauffeur. 

"Stop!"  shrieked  Miss  Cole. 

"Schlupff!"  vociferated  Mr.  Remsen,  mean- 
ing the  same  thing.  But  the  veil  had  become 
involved  with  his  utterance. 

The  native  brought  his  "boat"  to  a  halt,  just 
short  of  a  ghastly  blind  turn,  screened  by  a 
wooded  cliff. 

"S'  matter?"  he  inquired. 

"You  're  shaking  us  to  bits,"  protested  Darcy. 
"Please  don't  go  so  fast." 

"Shucks!"  said  the  other.  "Call  that  fast?  I 
could  do  better  with  a  hearse." 

"Very  likely,"  returned  Remsen.  "The  pas- 
senger in  a  hearse  has  n't  anything  to  say  about 
how  he  travels.  We  have.  Ease  it  up." 

What  retort  the  native  might  have  found  was 
181 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

cut  off  by  a  persistent  trumpeting  from  around 
the  curve. 

"Honk-honk!  Prr-rr-rrump !  Honk!  Honk- 
honk-konk!  Prr-rr-rrump,  prr-rr-rramp ! " 

"Two  cars,"  interpreted  the  native.  "Bel- 
lerin'  fer  help,  I  would  n't  wonder.  Prob'ly 
bogged  down  in  that  mud-waller  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill.  One  of  'em  sounds  like  our  truck." 

Again  the  brazen  voice  of  warning  and  appeal 
thrilled  through  the  air. 

"  '  T  is  our  truck,"  confirmed  the  chauffeur. 
"  I  know  the  old  caow's  voice.  I  pree-soom  that 
couple  for  the  boss's  cottage  is  gettin'  a  taste 
of  real  country  life  in  the  roadin'  line." 

"What  couple?"  asked  Darcy,  sitting  up. 

"Young  married  pair.  Got  off  the  train  at 
Meredith." 

"At  Meredith?"  repeated  Darcy,  in  troubled 
tones. 

"There 's  another  couple  due  from  Ashland 
for  the  Island.  All  friends  of  the  boss's.  Like 's 
not  that 's  the  other  car  that 's  whoopin'  it 
up  daown  there  't  the  foot  o'  the  hill.  Quite 
a  pa'ty." 

The  gleam  of  a  horrid  surmise  shone  in  the 
look  which  Darcy  turned  upon  Remsen. 

182 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Do  you  suppose  it  could  be  they?  Oh,  it 
couldn't!" 

"I  'm  very  much  afraid  it  is." 

"Oh,  that  would  be  too  awful!  Don't  let  it  be 
Maud  and  Helen!" 

"If  I  could  help  it,  I  would,"  he  replied,  brac- 
ing himself  for  confession.  "I'm  sure  it  is  your 
friends.  In  fact,  Tom  Harmon  told  me  they 
were  coming." 

"You  knew  it  all  the  time?" 

"I  did." 

"And  let  me  come  here  without  a  word  of 
warning?"  The  girl's  tone  rasped  Remsen's  ac- 
cusing conscience.  She  spoke  like  a  hurt  child 
whose  trust  has  been  betrayed. 

Remsen  waited  until  the  chauffeur,  who  had 
jumped  out  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  scene  of 
distress,  was  beyond  hearing.  Then  he  said : 

"Please  don't  think  me  wholly  selfish.  But 
how  was  I  to  know  that  the  presence  of  other 
couples  —  I  mean  other  people  —  would  be  so 
distressing  to  you  ? " 

"Don't  pretend  to  be  stupid,"  she  rebuked 
him.  "There  I  was,  a  bride  without  any  bride- 
groom, looking  for  a  place  to  hide  myself  and 
you  let  me  run  right  into  the  very  people  of  all 

183 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

in  the  world  that  I  did  n't  want  to  see.  You 
knew  I  did  n't  want  to  see  them.  I  told  you  so," 
she  ended  with  a  suggestion  of  fearfulness,  "the 
first  thing.  On  the  train." 

"Before  you  had  a  husband,"  he  reminded 
her.  "Now  you  have  one  — " 

"And  that  makes  it  worse!  A  thousand  times 
worse.  Oh,  why  did  n't  you  tell  me  on  the 
train?" 

"Suppose  I  had.  What  would  you  have 
done?" 

"Got  off  at  the  next  station.  Jumped  out  of 
the  window.  Anything! " 

"And  have  been  alone  in  some  strange  place 
with  nobody  to  look  after  you  ?  If  you  'd  done 
that,  I  should  have  felt  obligated  to  get  off, 
too." 

"You  would  n't!"  Darcy  stamped  her  foot. 
"You  have  n't  any  right." 

"When  a  lady  puts  a  claim  on  a  gentleman  as 
her  husband,"  remonstrated  Remsen  mildly, 
"while  he  may  not  have  the  right  to  prevent  her 
from  jumping  out  of  the  window  of  a  moving 
train,  at  least  he  may  use  all  fair  means  to  see 
her  through." 

"Do  you  think  you  've  been  fair  in  this?" 
184 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Kamerad!  I  surrender!  I  don't!  The  plain 
fact  is,  I  knew  you  'd  run  away  if  I  told  you,  and 
I  could  n't  bear  to  lose  you,  after  I  'd  miracu- 
lously found  you  again." 

"Consequently,"  she  accused,  "I  am  here 
where  the  girls  are  sure  to  find  me,  married  and 
without  a  husband,  or  with  a  husband  that 
they'll  discover  is  bogus.  What  am  I  going  to 
do?" 

"List  to  an  inspired  idea !  I  've  just  thought  it 
out.  When  you  see  your  friends,  tell  them  that 
I  did  n't  get  off  the  train  at  all.  I  went  right  on 
to  Montreal." 

"And  deserted  your  bride  ? " 

"Emergency  call  on  imperative  official  busi- 
ness. Back  to-morrow  or  next  day,  or  whenever 
you  choose  to  tell  'em.  That'll  give  you  time  to 
arrange  things  and  fix  up  a  good,  water-tight 
lie." 

"No  lie  could  be  good  enough." 

"Wait  till  we  put  our  heads  together  over  it." 

"How  can  we  put  our  heads  together  if  your 
head  is  in  Montreal?" 

"It  won't  be,  except  for  publication  to  the 
bridal  party.  It'll  be  at  the  Bungalow.  I'm  go- 
ing to  carry  it  there  now,  on  foot." 

185 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"And  stay  there  until  it's  time  for  you  to 
get  back  from  Montreal?" 

"Precisely.  When  you  need  your  titled  Brit- 
isher back,  I'll  be  ready,  with  the  accent  and 
the  infernal,  scratchy  whiskers." 

"Suppose,  meantime,  the  bridal  couples 
come  wandering  about  the  Bungalow?" 

"Then  I'll  take  to  the  woods.  Lives  of  the 
hunted  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Before  I'm 
through  with  all  this  I  may  have  to  disguise 
myself  as  a  rabbit  and  learn  to  twitch  my 


ears." 


"It's  fearfully  risky  —  "  began  the  girl. 

"It  is,"  he  confirmed,  "with  the  woods  full 
of  amateur  hunters.  But  I  Ve  known  rabbits  to 
live  to  a  ripe  old  age.  There  was  an  old  cotton- 
tail  on  Uncle  Simeon's  place  — " 

"Please  don't  joke.  It's  fearfully  serious  for 
me.  I  Ve  got  to  go  ahead  and  face  the  girls." 

"Say  the  word  and  I'll  gird  my  gospel  ar- 
mour on  —  I  mean  my  side-burns  —  and  sup- 
port you." 

"Yes:  and  what  would  our  frisky  chauffeur 
think  of  that !  Gracious  goodness !  I  forgot  about 
him.  What  will  he  think  about  your  disappear- 
ance if  you  run  away  now  ? " 

186 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Leave  him  to  me.  I've  got  an  argument  for 
him." 

The  native  reappeared  with  the  information 
that  the  truck  was  bemired  and  that  the  garage 
car  in  which  one  couple  had  arrived  from  Ash- 
land (the  motor-boat  having  broken  down)  was 
unable  to  pull  it  out  unaided.  Therefore,  he  told 
them,  he  would  have  to  go  to  the  rescue  with 
his  car. 

Mr.  Remsen  produced  a  roll  of  greenbacks. 
"Have  you  any  aversion  to  a  ten-dollar  bill?" 
he  inquired. 

"  I  ain't  never  knowed  one  teh  make  me  sick 
t'  my  stommick  yet,"  confessed  the  native. 

"Try  this  one,"  said  Remsen. 

But  the  speeder  withheld  his  hand.  "What 
am  I  bein'  hired  fer?" 

"To  tell  me  a  short  cut  by  foot  to  the  Bunga- 
low." 

"Over  this  hill,  and  yeh  can  see  it.  Only 
house  in  sight.  Whut  else?" 

"To  ferget  that  you  Ve  seen  me." 

"Nuthin'  fishy  about  this?"  inquired  the 
cautious  chauffeur. 

"  It 's  just  a  little  joke  on  the  people  in  front." 

"My  mem'ry,"  said  the  other,  pocketing  the 

187 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

bill,  "ain't  whut  it  was.  I  c'n  jest  ba'ly  rec'lect 
t'  say  'Thank-ye,'  but  there  my  power  gives 
out.  Some  one  comin'  around  the  bend,"  he 
added. 

Remsen  made  a  dive  into  the  underbrush. 
From  somewhere  above  Darcy,  a  moment  later, 
a  tree  found  voice  to  speak  like  a  dryad : 

"  I  '11  be  at  your  call  to-morrow." 

At  the  elbow  of  the  road  appeared  Maud  and 
Holcomb  Lee.  Darcy,  envying  Daniel  what  has 
been  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  trying  experi- 
ences in  the  records  of  animal  training,  walked 
forward  to  meet  them. 

Her  head  was  high. 

Her  chin  was  firm. 

Her  step  was  light. 

Her  eyes  danced  with  defiance. 

Andy  Dunne  would  have  been  proud  of  her. 

She  was  game. 


Chapter  XIV 

ROUSED  into  semi-wakefulness  by  the 
first  shaft  of  sunlight  that  pierced  the 
Bungalow  windows,  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  in- 
dulged in  sleepy  self-communion. 

"Who  are  we  this  morning?  Not  our  bright 
and  lovely  self.  That 's  a  cinch  . . .  Rodney  Car- 
teret?  No:  we  shook  Rodney  in  New  York  . . . 
Veyze!  That's  it;  Montrose  Veyze.  Sir  Mont- 
rose,  if  you  please.  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord!  The  bride." 

Unaccustomed  though  he  was  to  allow  the 
sun's  early  rays  to  pry  him  forth  from  his 
slumbers,  the  man  of  aliases  leapt  out  of  bed, 
chuckled  himself  through  his  toilet  and  break- 
fast, and  still  emitting  sub-sounds,  not  so  much 
of  glee  as  of  a  profound  and  abiding  satisfaction 
in  life,  took  the  road  for  Center  Harbor.  Darcy, 
still  wrapped  in  dreams  at  the  Farmhouse, 
would  have  made  the  distance  in  better  time; 
nevertheless,  his  hour-and-a-half  was  a  fairly 
creditable  performance.  In  consequence  of  cer- 
tain telephonic  efforts  of  the  previous  evening, 
he  expected  to  find  an  express  package  at  his 
destination,  wherein  he  was  not  disappointed. 
189 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

At  eleven  o'clock,  Darcy  rambled  down  the 
long,  wooded  driveway,  leading  from  the  Farm- 
house to  the  lake.  Off  to  her  right,  where  a  little 
brook  brawled  gayly  down  among  rounded 
boulders,  another  dryad-haunted  tree  burst 
into  soft,  familiar  music.  She  answered  the  whis- 
tled melody  with  a  pipe  of  her  own,  as  true  and 
sweet. 

"Coast  clear?"  asked  the  tree,  which,  for  a 
good  American  hickory,  spoke  with  a  surpris- 
ingly British  accent. 

"Yes.  Come  out." 

"Just  a  minute.  What 's  my  nationality?" 

"English,  this  morning." 

"I  thought  likely.  So  I  put  on  the  regalia." 
The  owner  of  the  voice  stepped  forth  in  the  full 
panoply  of  wig,  whiskers,  and  monocle. 

Darcy  surveyed  him  disparagingly.  "No," 
she  decided.  "I  don't  like  it  as  well  as  I  did." 

"Perhaps  you  prefer  the  original,"  he  sug- 
gested modestly.  "I  do,  myself.  But  I  was  afraid 
some  one  might  be  around." 

"Nobody  is  likely  to  be  here  this  morning. 
And  the  rig  does  n't  fit  in  with  that  great  box 
you  're  carrying.  What 's  in  it?  More  disguises  ? " 

He  uncovered  the  box  and  held  it  out  to  her. 
190 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Grown  on  the  premises,"  he  lied  gayly. 
"Picked  with  the  dew  still  on  Jem." 

The  girl  gathered  the  blooms  into  her  arms 
and  drew  them  up  to  her  face  with  a  sudden, 
tender,  mothering  gesture  which  caused  the 
giver's  heart  an  unaccustomed  and  disturbing 
thrill.  He  was  well  repaid  for  the  trip  to  Center 
Harbor. 

"How  lovely!"  she  cried.  "And  how  good  of 
you!  What  kind  are  they?  For  reward  you  may 
take  off  your  disguise,  but  you  must  hide  if  the 
others  come." 

"I  will,"  he  agreed,  and  answered  her  ques- 
tion: "They're  bride  and  bridesmaid  roses. 
Appropriate  to  the  occasion." 

Darcy  had  the  grace  to  blush.  "Out  of  date," 
she  said  hastily. 

"What!  Already?" 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  was  her  calm  an- 
nouncement. "  I  Ve  decided  that  you  're  not  my 
husband." 

"Wedded  and  Parted  —  by  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
Who  's  the  Bertha  M.  that 's  done  this  thing  to 
me?" 

"I  am.  As  soon  as  you  left  I  saw  that  it 
would  n't  fit  in  at  all  for  us  to  be  married.  The 

191 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

servants  here  probably  visit  between  house  and 
house.  And  it  was  bound  to  come  out  that  I  was 
at  the  Farmhouse  and  you  at  the  Bungalow, 
and  —  well  —  don't  you  see  that  would  look 
funny  if  we  were  married  ?" 

What  Jack  Remsen  saw  was  that  the  girl  was 
like  the  pinkest  of  the  bridesmaid  roses  when 
she  blushed,  though  a  sweeter,  warmer  pink. 

"Did  n't  I  go  to  Montreal,  then?" 

"No.  Though  you  may  have  to,  later.  There 's 
some  legal  formality  to  be  gone  through  yet 
before  we  can  be  married." 

"Oh,  then  we're  still  engaged." 

"Indeed,  yes!  Don't  think  you're  going  to 
get  out  of  it  so  easily.  The  legal  papers  are  in 
Montreal.  So,  instead  of  being  married  on  the 
1 6th,  as  we  had  planned,  we've  had  to  wait, 
and  you  Ve  brought  me  up  here,  on  your  way 
to  Montreal." 

"Is  this  the  genial  fiction  that  you  Ve  handed 
out  to  your  friends,  the  newly-weds?" 

"It  is." 

"How  did  they  take  it?" 

"Hard.  Maud  —  that's  Mrs.  Lee  —  espe- 
cially feels  that  she  has  a  terrible  weight  of  re- 
sponsibility on  her  shoulders.  She  was  going  to 

192 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

wire  Gloria  Greene  until  I  told  her  that  Mrs. 
Bond,  the  housekeeper,  is  Mr.  Harmon's  own 
second  cousin  and  therefore  a  fully  equipped 
chaperon." 

"Is  she?"  said  Remsen  in  surprise. 

"How  do  I  know?"  returned  the  girl  inno- 
cently. "She  might  be.  I  had  n't  asked  her.  But 
I  had  to  invent  something  to  pacify  Maud." 

"Invention,"  observed  the  admiring  Mr. 
Remsen,  "  appears  to  be  mere  child's  play  for 
you." 

"Even  so,  it  did  n't  satisfy  Maud.  She  quite 
insisted  on  my  moving  over  to  the  Cottage,  to 
be  under  her  eye. " 

"You're  not  going  to  do  that?"  he  cried  ap- 
prehensively. 

"And  play  the  goosiest  kind  of  gooseberry? 
Indeed,  I'm  not!" 

"What  comes  next?  Am  I  to  meet  the  tur- 
tledoves ? " 

"If  you  don't,  it  will  look  suspicious." 

"So  it  will.  Let 's  get  it  over  with,  then.  I'll 
risk  a  small  bet  that  after  meeting  Sir  Montrose 
Veyze  once,  they  won't  care  to  repeat  the  ex- 
perience." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to  them?" 

193 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Treat  them  to  an  exhibition  of  British  hau- 
teur and  superiority." 

"Has  n't  that  sort  of  thing  rather  gone  out 
since  the  war?" 

"Not  in  the  family  into  which  you've  mar- 
ried, my  dear  young  lady.  With  the  Veyzes 
nothing  ever  comes  in  and  nothing  ever  goes 
out.  Don't  you  think  that  would  be  a  good 
line  to  spring  on  them?"  he  added  with  ani- 
mation. 

"You  must  n't  be  too  horrid,"  enjoined 
Darcy.  "  I  don't  want  them  to  think  I  'm  mar- 
rying a —  a — " 

"A  lemon,"  supplied  the  other.  "Speaking 
of  lemons,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  pious 
idea  for  you  to  invite  your  fiance  to  lunch  with 
you?" 

"Excellent.  And  you  can  practice  your  ac- 
cent on  Mrs.  Bond." 

Profound  and  awesome  was  the  impression 
made  upon  that  lady.  She  found  it  only  natural 
that  the  couple  should  wander  off  immediately 
after  the  meal;  though  she  would  have  been  sur- 
prised enough  at  the  actual  basis  of  their  de- 
sire for  seclusion,  which  was  that  they  might 
Work  out  their  plan  for  the  encounter  with  the 

194 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

honeymooning  quartette.  The  boathouse,  which 
commands  the  approach  to  the  Farm,  was  se- 
lected for  the  scene  of  the  presentation. 

About  mid-afternoon  the  Lees  and  the  Woods 
appeared,  motoring  up  the  lower  road,  and  were 
halted  by  Darcy,  who,  pink  and  excited,  indi- 
cated a  figure  on  the  boathouse  porch.  The  fig- 
ure was  tipped  back  in  a  chair,  with  its  feet  on 
the  railing,  smoking  a  pipe. 

"Come  and  meet  my  Monty,"  invited  Darcy. 

Upon  their  approach,  the  figure  removed  its 
feet  from  the  railing  with  obvious  reluctance. 
It  did  not  remove  its  pipe  from  its  face  at  all. 
To  the  women  it  bowed  glumly.  To  the  men  it 
offered  a  flabby  half-portion  of  hand.  Holcomb 
Lee  took  it  and  dropped  it.  Paul  Wood  looked 
at  the  fingers  presented  to  him  in  turn,  looked 
at  Darcy,  looked  at  the  sky  and  observed  dis- 
passionately that  it  looked  like  rain. 

"Vay  likely.  Beastly  weathah!"  grunted  the 
other. 

"Bad  weather  makes  good  fishing,  they  say 
up  here,"  said  Helen  Wood,  pleasantly.  "Have 
you  tried  it?" 

"Nothin'  but  sunfishes  and  little  basses, 
they  tell  me.  Beastly  water! " 

195 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"You  might  find  the  hunting  better,"  prof- 
fered Maud  Lee. 

"Huntin'?  Where's  one  to  find  a  decent 
mount?" 

"Mrs.  Lee  means  the  shooting,  dear,"  ex- 
plained Darcy,  sweetly. 

"Haw!  Nevah  heard  shootin'  called  huntin' 
before.  No  decent  shootin',  either.  Tramped 
about  all  mornin'  and  flushed  one  chippin' 
squirrel." 

"He  means  chipmunk,"  expounded  the  help- 
ful Darcy.  "Poor  Monty  finds  our  American 
speech  so  difficult." 

"Beastly  language,"  murmured  the  bogus 
baronet,  resuming  his  seat. 

"But  surely,"  said  the  kindly-spirited  Helen, 
"you  find  the  mountains  beautiful." 

"Haw!  Too  crowded.  No  chance  to  turn 
about  without  knockin'  people's  elbows." 

The  visitors  took  a  hasty  departure. 

"Stupid  ass!"  growled  Lee  before  they  were 
fairly  out  of  earshot. 

"Oh,  for  just  one  good  swing  at  his  fat  head," 
yearned  the  husky  Wood. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  boor!"  was  Helen's 
contribution  to  the  symposium. 

196 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"He's  old"  disclosed  the  observing  Maud. 
"That's  a  wig  he  had  on.  I'd  swear  to  it.  Poor 
Darcy!" 

Dissolved  in  mirth,  Darcy  congratulated  the 
amateur  upon  a  highly  distinguished  perform- 
ance. 

"Did  Gloria  teach  you  to  act  like  that?" 
she  inquired. 

"If  Gloria  would  train  me,"  he  returned,  "I 
could  do  something.  But  she  won't  waste  time 
on  an  amateur.  Do  you  know  that  she's  one  of 
the  very  best  coaches  in  the  profession?" 

"I  know  that  she's  the  most  wonderful 
woman  in  the  world.  What  she's  done  for 
me—" 

"It's  probably  no  more  than  she's  done  for 
hundreds  of  other  people,"  said  Remsen,  and 
launched  out  into  a  panegyric  of  the  actress 
which  would  have  made  a  press  agent  feel  like 
an  amateur. 

With  more  experience  of  men,  Darcy  would 
have  known  that  this  was  the  language  of  the 
highest  type  of  admiration,  but  of  nothing 
more.  In  her  innocence  she  took  it  as  a  final 
confirmation  of  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  in 
the  studio. 

197 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Gloria  wants  you  to  work,  doesn't  she?" 
she  asked  shyly. 

"Gloria's  such  a  tremendous  worker,  herself, 
that  she  thinks  every  one.ought  to  be  busy  on 
some  job  all  the  time.  Does  n't  she  get  after 
you  ?  You  look  far  too  much  of  the  lily-of-the- 
field  type  to  meet  her  approval." 

" Lily-of-the-field,  yourself!"  returned  the 
girl  indignantly.  "I've  brought  a  lot  of  work 
up  here  with  me.  Can  you  say  the  same?" 

"Guilty!  I'm  jobless,  except  as  your  present 
slave." 

"Have  you  ever  done  anything  worth  while 
in  the  world?"  Darcy  challenged;  but  the  smile 
with  which  she  accompanied  the  words  was 
indulgent. 

He  took  silent  counsel  with  himself.  "At  a 
class  reunion  I  once  chased  a  trolley-car  on  a 
dromedary,"  he  said  hopefully.  "That  made 
life  temporarily  happier  for  a  good  many  peo- 
ple, including  the  dromedary,  who  was  con- 
ducting the  performance." 

"  Sir  Monty  —  my  real  Sir  Monty  —  used  to 
be  an  officer  in  a  camel  corps,"  fabricated  Darcy 
dreamily. 

"Now,  why  drag  in  my  fellow  fiance,  just  as 

198 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

I  was  beginning  to  forget  him?"  he  expostu- 
lated. 

"We  —  you  —  he  is  n't  to  be  forgotten," 
said  the  girl  hastily. 

"Of  course  not.  I'm  sorry.  Tell  me  about 
him." 

Attempting  to  do  so,  Darcy  found  that  the 
flavor  had  unaccountably  oozed  out  of  her  lie. 
Pretense  and  falsification  with  this  man  who 
had  unprotestingly  let  himself  in  for  an  indefi- 
nite career  of  both  on  his  own  account,  to  aid  a 
girl  whom  he  did  n't  even  know  in  what,  for  all 
he  could  tell,  might  be  only  an  unworthy 
prank  —  well,  it  simply  went  against  the  grain. 

"No;  I  don't  believe  I  will  just  now,"  she 
returned.  "  I  might  confuse  him  with  your 
masterly  impersonation." 

"Then  tell  me  about  yourself.  What  would 
you  have  done  if  you  had  n't  found  a  ready- 
made  Englishman  on  the  bridal  train?" 

"Heaven  only  knows!  Committed  suicide,  I 
think.  I  may  have  to  come  to  that  yet,"  she 
said  dismally.  "Oh,  dear!  The  further  it  goes, 
the  worse  it  gets.  You've  helped  me  out,  for 
the  present,  but — " 

"Then  let  me  help  you  out  some  more,"  he 
199 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

urged.  "Murder,  arson,  forgery,  bigamy,  any- 
thing you  wish.  I'm  an  outlaw,  anyway,  and 
a  crime  or  two  makes  no  difference  to  me." 

Underneath  his  lightness,  she  divined  the 
deeper  wish  to  be  of  service. 

"Take  off  your  disguise,"  she  said  quietly, 
"I  want  to  look  at  the  real  you." 

He  obeyed,  and  endured  the  scrutiny  of  her 
intent  eyes,  smiling. 

"Yes,"  she  decided.  "You'd  be  a  real  friend. 
I  could  trust  you.  And  I  want  to.  Oh,  I  do  want 
to.  I  'm  in  an  awful  mess." 

"Probably  it  is  n't  nearly  as  bad  as  it  looks. 
Trot  it  out,  and  let's  examine  it." 

"But  it  is  n't  my  secret,  alone.  I've  got  a  — 
a  partner." 

"The  'wicked  partner'?" 

" She  isn't  wicked." 

"Oh,  it's  a  she!  The  shadows  deepen." 

"And  I  've  promised  a  hope-to-die  promise." 

"Beg  off  from  it." 

She  jumped  up,  clapping  her  hands  like  a 
child.  "I'll  try.  You  go  home  now,  and  don't 
touch  your  telephone,  for  it's  a  party  wire  and 
I'm  going  to  'phone  a  night  letter  to  my 
partner." 

200 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

This  is  the  night-letter  which  went  to  Gloria 
Greene. 

Will  you  release  me  from  promise  and  let  me 
tell  one  person,  very  near  to  you,  who  can  help? 
Also,  may  I  tell  same  person  that  I  know  about 
you  two? 

DARCY 

The  entire  telegram  puzzled  the  recipient 
more  than  a  little,  particularly  the  last  portion. 
Not  understanding,  she  took  the  wisest  course 
and  played  safe  by  wiring  a  veto.  The  wording 
of  her  reply  caused  much  painful  puzzlement 
in  the  virginal  breast  of  the  lady  telegraph 
operator  who,  on  the  following  morning,  thus 
'phoned  it  to  Miss  Darcy  Cole: 

"This  the  Farmhouse?  .  .  .  That  Miss  Cole? 
...  I  gotta  telegram  f'r  you,  Miss  Cole,  an*  I 
d'  knowz  I  ken  make  it  all  out.  Sounds  queer  t' 
me.  Shall  I  get  a  repeat?  .  .  .  Give  it  t'  you  first? 
All  right.  Jussuz  you  say.  Ready?  .  .  .  'Miss 
Dassy  Cole,  The  Farm,  Boulder  Brook.  No.  Don't 
dare  trust  you  with  the  truth.  You  do  too  well  with 
the  other  thing.'  Get  that?  .  .  .  yes;  's  funny, 
ain't  it?  There's  funnier  comin'.  Ready? .  .  . 
'Keep  it  up  till  you  hear  from  me  by  following 
letter'  Now  comes  the  queer  part.  'Don't  be  a 
201 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

damp  hool'  Get  that?  .  .  .  Yes;  hool  ...  Me? 
/  don't  know  what  a  hool  is.  Spell  it?  D-a-m-p; 
got  that?  .  .  .  H-double  o-l.  Got  that?  Well, 
mebbe  it  is  funny,  but  /  don't  get  no  laughter 
out  of  it.  What?  .  .  .  Oh,  yes;  of  course.  Signed 
Gloria.  Want  me  to  get  a  repeat?  No.  Jussuz 
you  say;  I'm  sat'sfied  if  you  are.  But  then  ain't 
no  sech  a  word  in  my  dictionary.  I  jest  looked 
it  up." 

Miss  Darcy  Cole,  gazing  out  into  a  worldful 
of  rain,  mused  upon  the  message,  with  its  defi- 
nite inhibition.  For  a  moment  she  was  tempted 
to  derive  some  compensating  mirth  from  the 
telegram  by  calling  up  the  telegraph  lady, 
advising  her  to  re-read  the  cryptic  sentence 
which  had  so  disturbed  her  professional  calm, 
by  dividing  the  two  words  after  the  m  instead 
of  the  p  —  and  then  listening  for  the  reaction 
to  the  shock.  But  this  she  dismissed  as  not 
worth  while. 

"But  I  think  I  am  one,"  she  reflected  drear- 
ily, "not  to  make  Gloria  release  me,  anyway." 


Chapter  XV 

MISS  DARCY  COLE  sat  on  the  edge  of 
Red  Rock,  swinging  twenty  dollars' 
worth  of  the  very  smartest  obtainable  boots, 
the  personal  selection  of  Miss  Gloria  Greene, 
over  two  hundred  feet  of  shimmering  October 
air.  Behind  her  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  was  using 
the  residue  of  the  atmosphere  to  replenish  his 
exhausted  lungs,  for  he  had  undertaken  to  keep 
pace  with  his  companion  up  the  face  of  the 
declivity,  with  all  but  fatal  results.  It  is  not 
well  for  a  man  who  has  been  cooped  up  within 
a  city  house,  exerciseless  and  under  the  es- 
pionage of  a  minion  of  the  law,  to  compete 
on  a  thirty-per-cent  grade  with  a  woman  who 
has  just  come  from  the  training  of  Andy 
Dunne. 

Lack  of  her  accustomed  outdoor  exercise  had 
simply  lent  zest  to  Darcy.  Three  days  before, 
the  rains  had  descended  and  the  floods  had 
come  and  kept  on  coming.  Now,  when  the  skies 
of  this  mountain  region  set  out  seriously  to 
rain,  the  local  ducks  borrow  mackintoshes. 
Several  times  the  visitor  at  the  Farmhouse  had 
203 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ventured  forth,  only  to  be  promptly  beaten 
back  to  shelter. 

There  she  would  have  led  a  lonely  existence, 
for  the  bridal  couples  were  weather-bound,  and 
even  the  rural  delivery  was  cut  oif  (so  that  the 
promised  letter  from  Gloria  had  n't  arrived), 
had  it  not  been  for  her  neighbor  of  the  Bunga- 
low. Each  morning  he  waded  over  the  soaking 
mile,  and,  of  course,  in  such  weather  a  decent 
sense  of  hospitality  compelled  his  hostess  to 
keep  him  for  luncheon  arid  dinner.  So  they  had 
come  to  know  each  other  on  an  inevitable  foot- 
ing of  unconscious  intimacy,  better,  perhaps, 
than  they  normally  would  have  done  in  the 
conventional  encounters  of  a  year's  acquaint- 
anceship ;  and  he  played  for  her  and  she  sang  to 
him;  and  they  discussed  people  and  differed 
about  art,  and  agreed  about  books  and  quar- 
reled about  politics  and  religion,  and  were 
wholly  and  perilously  content  with  one  another 
and  the  situation. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  the  sun 
broke  gloriously  through,  and  Darcy  challenged 
Remsen  to  make  the  precipitous  ascent  of  the 
front  of  Red  Hill. 

Behold  her,  then,  at  the  conclusion  serenely 
204 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

overlooking  the  lowland  and  the  lake  while 
her  companion  stretched  out  panting  behind 
her. 

"This  is  a  peak  on  the  Siberian  front,"  she 
announced.  "And  I'm  an  outpost." 

"What  do  you  see,  Sister  Anne?" 

"Wait  and  I'll  tell  you.  An  aeroplane"  — 
she  pointed  to  a  wheeling  crow  above  them  — 
"has  just  signaled  me — •" 

("Caw,"  said  the  crow;  "Thank  you,"  said 
Darcy  and  threw  the  bird  a  kiss.) 

" —  that  a  regiment  is  coming  up  from  below. 
There's  the  advance  guard." 

She  pointed  down  the  sheer  rock.  Remsen 
moved  across  and  looked  over  the  edge.  "That 
spider?"  he  inquired  unimaginatively. 

"He's  just  pretending  to  be  a  spider.  But 
he's  really  a  spy  disguised  as  a  spider.  Now 
the  question  is,  Shall  I  drop  this  bomb  on 
him?" 

She  held  a  pebble  above  the  toiling  crawler. 

"War  is  hell,"  observed  Remsen  lazily.  "Why 
add  to  its  horrors?" 

"How  far  away  it  all  seems!"  said  the  girl 
dreamily.  "Do  you  suppose,  over  there,  it's 
beautiful  and  peaceful  like  this  hillside  one  day, 
205 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

and  then  the  next  —  I  guess  I  '11  let  my  spy 
spider  live,"  she  broke  off,  dropping  her  chin  in 
her  hand. 

Remsen  sat  down  at  her  side. 

"What's  your  soldier  man  like?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"What?  Who?"  inquired  the  startled  Darcy. 
"Oh,  Monty!"  Gloria's  insufficient  sketch  came 
to  her  aid.  "Why,  he's  short  and  round  and 
roly-poly." 

"Then  I  don't  give  a  very  exact  imitation  of 
him,  do  I?" 

"Not  very.  And  he's  red  and  fierce-looking, 
with  a  stubby,  scrubby  mustache,"  she  added, 
augmenting  Gloria's  description. 

Her  companion  stared.  "Not  what  I  should 
call  a  particularly  enthusiastic  portaiture." 

"Oh,  but  of  course  he's  awfully  nice,"  she 
made  haste  to  amend.  "Not  really  a  bit  fierce, 
you  know,  but  very  brave  and  —  and  "  (eagerly 
casting  about)  "a  lovely  voice." 

"What  kind?" 

"Barytone." 

"And  you  sing  together?"  he  asked  gloom- 
ily. 

"Oh,  lots!" 

206 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  suppose  so."  He  gathered  some  loose 
stones  and  began  idly  to  drop  them  over  the 
rock's  crest. 

'* There!  You've  given  the  alarm  to  the  spy," 
she  accused.  "  See  him  wigwagging  at  you !  Now 
he'll  go  and  report." 

"Darcy!" 

"Well?" 

"You  don't  mind  my  calling  you  Darcy,  do 
you?" 

"N-n-no,  I  like  it." 

"I  wonder  if  you'll  mind  what  I'm  going  to 
say  now." 

"I  don't  believe  I  should  mind  anything  you 
would  say." 

"It's  about  the  little  song.  The  one  that  you 
set  right  for  me." 

"Our  song." 

"Our  song,"  he  repeated  with  a  wistful  em- 
phasis on  the  pronoun.  "Darcy,  you  won't  sing 
that  —  to  him  —  will  you  ? " 

"No,"  she  said.  Her  eyes  were  dimly  troubled 
and  would  not  meet  his.  "  I  won't  sing  that  — 
to  any  one  —  again." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  humbly. 

"Oh,  look!"  she  cried  with  an  effort  at  gay- 

207 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ety.  "The  enemy!  They  approach.  Let's  go 
and  meet  'em." 

She  jumped  to  her  feet  and  pointed  to  a  far 
stretch  of  the  road  where  four  figures  were 
slowly  moving  along. 

"That  means  I've  got  to  put  on  my  infernal 
whiskers  and  wig!"  he  groaned. 

"Just  think  how  long  a  vacation  you've  had 
from  them,"  she  reproached  him. 

"And  my  still  more  uncomfortable  manners. " 

"Tone  them  down  a  little,"  she  advised.  "I 
think  Holcomb  and  Paul  are  just  about  ready 
to  turn  on  the  haughty  Britisher,  and  rend  him 
limb  from  limb." 

"Don't  blame  'em,"  he  said  lazily.  "But  they 
seem  to  be  turning  off  toward  the  village,"  he 
added,  peering  down  into  the  valley. 

"And  the  girls  are  coming  on,"  said  Darcy. 
"Probably  they've  got  the  mail." 

"With  foreign  letters?"  said  Remsen  jeal- 
ously. "Did  you  leave  a  forwarding  address?" 

She  shot  a  swift,  indirect  look  at  him.  But 
he  was  gazing  out  over  the  regally  garbed  forest 
spread  below  them. 

"Come  along!"  she  urged.  "We  must  hurry. 
We'll  take  the  Bungalow  trail,  and  I'll  wait 

208 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

while  you  put  on  your  Veyze  outfit.  Then  we'll 
catch  the  girls  on  their  return  from  the  Farm." 

Having  carried  through  the  first  part  of  this 
programme,  they  took  the  road  together  and 
presently  came  upon  the  two  brides.  Maud  bore 
a  folded  newspaper  as  if  it  were  a  truncheon 
of  official  authority.  Her  expression  was  stern 
and  important.  Helen  was  obviously  struggling 
with  a  tendency  to  hysterical  excitement.  Upon 
catching  sight  of  Darcy  and  her  escort,  Maud 
marched  with  an  almost  military  front,  straight 
upon  them,  her  fellow  bride  acting  as  rear 
guard. 

"Darcy,"  said  Maud,  ignoring  the  now  per- 
fectly whiskered  fiance,  "  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you  alone." 

A  qualm  of  mingled  intuition  and  caution 
warned  Darcy. 

"What  about,  Maud?"  she  asked. 

"A  private  matter  which  your  fiance  can  hear 
later,"  returned  the  uncompromising  Maud. 

"Please,  Darcy,"  added  Helen. 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  the  girl  with  spirit. 
"  Has  it  anything  to  do  with  Monty?" 

"It  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  him,"  was  the 
grim  response. 

209 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Then  he  should  hear  it  at  the  same  time." 

"Haw!  By  all  means.  Haw!"  confirmed  the 
fiance,  bringing  his  monocle  to  bear  upon  Maud 
and  Helen  in  turn. 

"Very  well,"  said  Maud  in  a  your-blood-be- 
on-your-own-head  voice.  "Read  that." 

She  thrust  the  newspaper  into  Darcy's  hand, 
pointing  to  a  penciled  paragraph  on  the  front 
page.  To  Darcy's  eternal  credit  be  it  said,  she 
succeeded  in  preserving  a  calm  and  unperturbed 
face,  while  she  read  the  paragraph,  and  then 
passed  it  to  her  waiting  fiance. 

It  informed  the  world  that,  for  distinguished 
service  in  the  aerial  corps,  the  King  of  England 
had,  on  the  previous  day,  personally  decorated 
Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  Bart.,  of  Veyze  Holdings, 
Hampshire,  England. 


Chapter  XVI 

FOR  the  death,  disappearance,  or  capture 
of  Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  of  Veyze  Holdings, 
Hampshire,  England,  Darcy  was  duly  prepared, 
in  a  spirit  of  Christian  fortitude  and  resignation. 
That  fame  might  mark  him  out,  thus  forcing 
the  issue  for  her,  was  wholly  unforeseen.  It  took 
her  completely  aback.  The  Darcy  of  a  year 
before  would  have  collapsed  miserably  under 
it.  But  this  was  a  different  Darcy.  She  faced 
the  accuser  with  a  quiet  smile,  back  of  which 
her  thoughts  ran  desperately  around  in  cir- 
cles, like  a  bevy  of  little  rabbits  cut  off  from 
cover. 

"You've  read  what  it  says  in  the  news- 
paper?" said  Maud,  in  the  accents  of  a  cross- 
examining  counsel. 
"Yes.  Oh,  certainly!" 
"Then  perhaps  you  can  explain." 
Darcy  shot  a  swift  glance  at  the  bogus  Sir 
Montrose.  He  also  was  smiling.  Most  illogically 
Darcy's  heart  began  to  sing  a  little  private 
Hymn  of  Hate  of  its  own.  What  did  he  mean 
by  standing  there  with  a  sickly  grin  on  his  silly 

2U 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

face  when  the  whole  fabric  of  their  mutual  pre- 
tense was  being  riddled  ? 

(Herein  she  was  ungrateful  as  well  as  illogical. 
The  face  was  silly  because  she  had  compelled 
him  to  make  it  so.  As  for  the  rest,  the  smile  was 
good  enough  of  its  kind.  He  was  not  smiling 
because  he  felt  like  it,  but  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  he  was  doing  some  high-pressure  thinking 
of  his  own.) 

From  the  smirking  countenance  of  her  ally, 
Darcy  turned  to  the  lowering  front  of  the 
enemy. 

"Well,  you  see,"  she  said  with  an  air  of  great 
candor,  after  deliberately  tearing  out  the  para- 
graph, "it's  rather  an  involved  matter." 

"I  don't  see  anything  involved  about  it," 
returned  the  lofty  and  determined  Maud.  "Who 
is  this  man?" 

"Yes;  who  is  he?"  echoed  Helen,  coming 
mildly  to  her  support. 

From  the  corner  of  her  eye  the  badgered  girl 
could  see  the  object  of  the  inquiry.  Still  smiling! 
It  was  too  much.  Then  and  there  Darcy  com- 
mitted that  ignoble  act  known  and  reprehended 
in  the  higher  sporting  circles,  wherein  Andy 
Dunne  moves,  as  "passing  the  buck." 
212 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"  You  tell  them,  Monty,"  she  said  sweetly. 
Of  a  great  statesman,  now  dead,  it  has  been 
written : 

Cheated  by  treachery  and  beguiled  by  Fate, 
Once  in  his  life  we  well  may  call  him  great. 

Thus  with  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen  alias  Sir  Mcn- 
trose  Veyze.  Out  of  conscious  nothing  he  had, 
in  that  precious  moment's  respite,  evoked  an 
instantaneous  and  full-fledged  plan  to  meet  the 
crisis. 

Fixing  upon  Maud  as  the  more  formidable 
antagonist,  he  impaled  her  on  the  beam  of  his 
monocle. 

"Haw!"  he  ejaculated.  "You've  heard  about 
the  Veyze  Succession,  I  assume." 

"Never,"  said  Maud  stoutly. 

" What?  Nevah  heard  of  the  King's  Judg- 
ment? Why,  my  deah  lady,  we're  as  well  known 
as  the  Tower  of  London  or  the  —  the  Crystal 
Palace." 

"In  America,  you  see,"  explained  the  more 
pacific  Helen,  "these  things  don't  get  to  us." 

"But  I  assuah  you,"  cried  the  other/ turning 

his  glassy  regard  upon  her,   "your  atrocious 

American  press  has  been  quite  full  of  it  from 

time  to  time.  Come,  now!  You're  spoofing  me. 

213 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

You  must  have  read  of  the  Veyze  divided  title. 
What?" 

Hypnotized  by  the  glare  of  the  monocle, 
Helen's  imagination  inspired  her  to  confess 
that  she  did  vaguely  recall  something  about  it, 
which  was  the  more  gratifying  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Veyzes  in  that  he  had  intro- 
duced the  press  feature  on  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment. 

The  less  impressionable  Maud  was  not  to  be 
diverted  from  the  main  issue. 

"Even  if  we  knew  all  about  your  family,  it 
would  not  explain  Sir  Montrose  Veyze  being 
here  in  America  at  the  same  time  that  he  is 
being  received  by  the  King  in  London." 

"Wearing  two  swords.  Does  n't  the  press  re- 
port mention  that?  It  should,"  put  in  the  Veyze 
representative  conscientiously  piling  up  pic- 
turesque detail  to  embellish  and  fortify  his  case. 
"Don't  forget  that,  please.  It's  a  Veyze  pre- 
rogative." 

"  Is  it  a  Veyze  prerogative  to  be  in  two  places 
at  once?"  queried  the  cross-examiner.  "Or — • 
there  are  n't  two  of  you,  I  suppose." 

"Otcazvse! 

The  accused  delivered  the  answer  in  a  tone  of 

214 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

calm  and  wondering  contempt.  Obviously  he 
was  incredulous  that  such  ignorance  as  his  in- 
terrogator displayed  could  exist  in  a  Christian 
country. 

"Two  Sir  Montrose  Veyzes?  Of  the  same 
name  and  title?"  Maud  was  glaring,  now. 

"Of  cawsel  The  famous  Veyze  twins.  Though 
we're  not  rahlly  twins  any  more,  you  under- 
stand." 

Under  the  calm  and  steady  beam  of  the  mon- 
ocle, Maud  weakened.  "What  are  you  famous 
for?"  she  asked,  more  amenably. 

"Because  there  are  two  of  us  to  the  divided 
title.  Bally  hard  for  an  American  to  understand, 
I  'm  afraid.  It  begins  back  in  the  early  days  of 
the  title,  quite  before  Columbus  landed  the 
Puritans  at  Bunker  Hill,  you  know." 

"Columbus  wasn't  a  Puritan,  dear,"  cor- 
rected Darcy. 

"No?  Nevah  heard  anything  against  the 
man's  morals,  that  I  can  recall." 

"  Never  mind  Columbus,"  said  the  interested 
Helen.  "Do  tell  us  about  the  Veyzes." 

"  Right-o !  Two  brothers  were  born  —  twins, 
d'  you  see?  There  was  some  natural  confusion. 
Which  was  the  heir  —  born  first,  you  know? 
215 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Nobody  could  tell.  The  King  was  stayin'  at 
Veyze  Holdings  then  for  the  shootin';  very 
famous  shootin'.  The  family  referred  it  to  him. 
Would  he  play  the  part  of  Solomon  and  decide  ? 
His  Majesty  graciously  acceded  to  the  request. 
He  decreed  that  the  title  should  thenceforth  be 
a  dual  one.  It's  remained  so  ever  since.  We  don't 
produce  twins  any  more,  but  the  two  eldest  sons 
of  the  line  inherit  title  and  property  jointly, 
and  each  carries  two  swords  at  court.  There's 
Sir  Montrose  and  Sir  Montrose  II.  I'm  II." 

"How  romantic!"  breathed  Helen. 

"Rah-ther.  We  pride  ourselves  on  that  sort 
of  thing,  we  Veyzes." 

As  the  glory  of  his  performance  developed 
before  her  enraptured  mind,  the  Hymn  of  Hate 
died  out  within  Darcy,  to  be  succeeded  by  a 
Paean  of  Praise. 

"And  now,"  said  she  severely,  "I  should 
think  you  girls  might  have  the  decency  to  apol- 
ogize to  Sir  Montrose." 

"Rah-ther*!"  confirmed  her  ally. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Helen  contritely. 

"I'll  apologize  when  I'm  proved  wrong," 
returned  Mrs.  Lee  dubiously.  "We'll  know  soon 
enough." 

216 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Yes?  And  how?" 

"Mr.  Wood  is  trying  to  get  the  British  Em- 
bassy on  long-distance  'phone." 

"My  respects  to  Lord  Wyncombe,"  said  the 
undisturbed  suspect.  "But  why  go  to  so  much 
trouble?  Surely  there's  a  simpler  way." 

"How?"  asked  Darcy,  wondering  what  fresh 
audacity  was  developing  in  that  fertile  brain. 

"Don't  you  have — er — public  libraries  in 
your  American  towns?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  perhaps  there  is  one  at  Center  Har- 
bor." 

"There  is,"  answered  Helen,  so  promptly 
that  Darcy  shot  a  glance  of  suspicion  at  her. 

"What  more  easy  than  to  drive  over  there  at 
once,"  observed  the  suspect  blandly,  "  and  con- 
sult their  Burke." 

"Burke's  Peerage,  you  mean?"  said  Darcy. 
"  Perhaps  they  have  n't  one." 

"They  haven't,"  blurted  Maud,  and 
stopped,  reddening. 

"Apparently  you've  tried,"  remarked  Darcy 
witheringly.  "We  appreciate  your  interest." 

But  Sir  Montrose  II  was  painfully  shocked. 
"Not  got  a  Burke!"  he  exclaimed.  "Unbe- 
217 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

lievable!  What  a  country!  I'll  send  for  one,  at 
once." 

Impressed,  despite  herself,  Maud  Lee  hesi- 
tated, looking  from  Darcy  to  her  fiance. 

"It  may  be  all  right,"  she  admitted.  "I  don't 
say  that  it  is  n't.  But  until  it  is  cleared  up 
beyond  a  doubt,  don't  you  think,  Darcy,  you 
ought  to  come  and  stay  with  us?" 

"I  think  not,"  put  in  Darcy's  escort  quietly. 
"I'm  taking  Miss  Cole  back  to  the  Farm.  If 
you've  nothing  further  to  add — •" 

"Nothing — now,"  answered  the  baffled 
Mrs.  Lee. 

"Then  we'll  bid  you  good-day." 

Safely  around  the  curve  they  stopped  and 
faced  each  other. 

"You  wonderful  person!"  giggled  Darcy 
hysterically.  "How  did  you  ever  think  of  it!" 

Assuming  a  grandiose  pose  he  declaimed: 

You  may  break,  you  may  shatter,  the  Veyze  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  Montrose  will  cling  to  it  still. 

"To  get  down  to  prose,  how  long  will  it 
cling?"  she  asked  thoughtfully. 

"Allowing  for  inevitable  official  red  tape,  I 
should  say  anywhere  from  twenty-four  hours 
to  a  month." 

218 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Paul  Wood  has  a  cousin  in  the  State  De- 
partment." 

"In  that  case,  nearer  the  twenty-four  hours 
than  the  month." 

Darcy  seated  herself  on  a  boulder  and  took 
her  chin  into  her  cupped  hands.  "Let  me  think," 
she  murmured. 

Remsen  watched  her  as  she  considered  and 
would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  read  her 
mind.  Presently  she  looked  up. 

"Do  you  mind  leaving  me  here?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"I  always  mind  leaving  you.  It  gives  me  a 
lost  feeling." 

She  nodded.  "Yes;  I  know  what  you  mean.  I 
feel  it,  too." 

"Do  you?"  he  cried  eagerly. 

"You've  been  so  wonderfully  good  to  me  all 
through  this  queer  mess,"  she  supplemented,  a 
little  hurriedly. 

He  disregarded  this.  "Besides,"  he  said, 
"  I  'm  afraid  this  is  going  to  be  our  last  walk." 

She  looked  her  startled  question. 

"What  I'd  like,  of  course,"  he  pursued,  "is 
219 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

to  stay  here  and  face  it  through  with  you.  But 
that 's  going  to  be  worse  for  you  than  if  I  went, 
is  n't  it?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  is." 

"Then  it's  up  to  me  to  leave." 

"But  what  if  they  find  you  and  take  you  back 
to  New  York?" 

"I've  got  to  take  the  risk.  They're  pretty 
likely  to  find  out  about  me  here  if  they  under- 
take a  Veyze  investigation." 

"That's  true,"  she  cried.  "I've  made  this 
place  impossible  for  you  as  a  refuge." 

"Not  you.  I  did  it  myself.  I'd  do  it  again  — 
a  thousand  times  —  for  these  last  four  days." 

"When  would  you  go?" 

"To-night.  Eleven  o'clock.  Meredith." 

"Wait  till  to-morrow." 

His  heart  leaped.  "We're  to  have  this  eve- 
ning together?" 

"No,"  she  said  gently.  "I  want  this  evening 
to  myself.  I  have  to  think." 

"I'm  a  marvelous  stimulus  to  thought,"  he 
pleaded. 

She  shook  an  obstinate  head. 

"Might  I  walk  back  to  the  Farm  with  you?" 

"No;  please.  I'd  rather  you  did  n't."  She 
220 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

rose  and  laid  her  hand  in  his.  "You've  been  a 
very  parfait,  gentil  knight,"  she  said. 

"Darcy!" 

But  she  was  already  swinging  up  the  hill  with 
that  free,  lithe,  rhythmic  pace  of  hers.  At  the 
summit  she  turned  and  waved.  For  one  brief 
second  he  saw  her  sweet,  flushed  profile  clear 
against  the  sweet,  flushed  sky.  It  disappeared 
leaving  earth  and  heaven  dim  and  void. 

Remsen  turned  blindly  homeward.  He  knew, 
at  last,  what  had  happened  to  him. 


Chapter  XVII 


ALL  that  afternoon  and  well  into  the  eve- 
ning, Darcy  Cole,  at  the  Farmhouse,  sat 
and  wrote  and  wrote  and  wrote. 

All  that  afternoon  and  well  into  the  evening, 
Jack  Remsen,  at  the  Bungalow,  sat  and  smoked 
and  mused  and  let  his  pipe  go  out  and  relighted 
it  and  mused  again. 

All  that  afternoon  and  well  into  the  evening, 
the  four  amateur  sleuths  at  the  Lodge  waited 
for  a  reply  from  Washington  which  did  n't 
come. 

At  a  point  a  mile  or  so  above  these  human 
processes  a  large,  cold  cloud  sprung  a  million 
leaks  and  sifted  down  a  considerable  quantity 
of  large,  soft  snowflakes,  and  continued  so  to 
do  until  the  air  was  darkened  and  the  earth 
whitened  with  them. 

Through  this  curtain,  after  a  time,  fright- 
ened but  determined,  tramped  Darcy  Cole. 
Through  this  curtain  tramped  also  Jack  Rem- 
sen, deep  in  such  trouble  of  heart  as  he  had 
never  known  before,  and  most  undetermined. 
Both  were  headed  for  the  same  spot,  the  mail- 

222 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

box  at  the  entrance  from  the  main  road  to  the 
byway  which  leads  up  to  the  Bungalow. 

Having  started  considerably  earlier  than 
Jack,  Darcy  got  there  first.  She  opened  the  box, 
dropped  in  her  note,  and  proceeded  to  another 
mail-box  some  distance  along  the  road  and  op- 
posite the  Island,  where  she  deposited  a  second 
epistle.  That  left  her  two  and  a  half  hours  in 
which  to  make  the  ten  miles  of  dark,  heavy  road 
to  Meredith.  If  it  were  too  little,  she  had  learned 
of  a  trail  through  meadowland  and  forest  which 
would  cut  off  nearly  two  miles.  Darcy  did  n't 
like  woods  at  night  — •  most  of  us  don't,  if  we're 
honest  with  ourselves  —  but  she  proposed  to 
catch  that  train. 

Now,  an  all-wise  government  has  ordained 
that  upon  rural  delivery  boxes  there  shall  be 
a  metal  flag  which  works  automatically  with 
the  raising  and  the  lowering  of  the  lid.  Upon 
reaching  the  Bungalow  box,  shortly  after  the 
wayfarer  from  the  Farmhouse  had  passed, 
Jack  Remsen  observed  with  surprise  that  the 
flag,  which  he  knew  to  have  been  down,  was 
raised. 

"How's  this?"  inquired  the  wayfarer,  ad- 
dressing the  box.  "I've  been  here  and  got  the 
223 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

noon  delivery,  and  the  postman  comes  only 
once  a  day.  Yet  you  're  flying  signals." 

As  the  box  did  not  respond,  Remsen  opened 
it  and  felt  inside.  Darcy's  note  rewarded  his 
explorations.  By  the  light  of  successive  matches 
and  at  the  cost  of  scorched  fingers,  he  read  it: 

Good-bye,  Knight.  Your  service  is  over.  It  has 
been  an  ungrateful  one.  But  I  am  more  grateful 
than  I  can  say.  You  must  not  go.  You  must  stay. 
I  have  written  to  Helen  —  she  is  the  kind  one  — 
and  told  her  about  it;  just  how  I  dragged  you  into 
it  to  take  the  real  Sir  Montrose's  place.  I  had  to 
tell  her  who  you  were.  But  your  secret  won't  be 
betrayed.  So  you  won't  have  to  go  away.  You'll 
be  safe  here.  I'm  glad.  I  like  to  think  of  you  here. 
It's  been  good  —  has  n't  it?  Perhaps  when  you 
are  able  to  come  back  to  New  York  I  '11  see  you  at 
Gloria's  some  time. 

I  can't  say  a  millionth  part  of  what  I  want  to. 
I  could  n't  even  if  there  were  time.  You've  been 
so  good  to  me  —  so  good.  And  all  you've  had  for 
it  is  trouble.  I  'm  sorry. 

Good-night,  Knight.  D.  C. 

\ 

"Even  if  there  were  time."  As  has  been  indi- 
cated, Jack  Remsen's  mind  could,  on  occasion, 
work  swiftly. 

Time  for  what?. Why  should  she  be  pressed 
for  time?  Obviously,  because  she  was  going 

224 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

away.  And  she  would  leave  that  note  only  just 
before  her  departure.  That  could  mean  only  the 
eleven  o'clock  train  from  Meredith:  the  train 
he  had  intended  taking  before  she  asked  him  to 
postpone  his  departure  until  the  morrow.  Of 
course;  so  that  he  should  get  her  note!  On  her 
way  to  the  station  she  would  leave  the  explana- 
tory and  damnatory  letter  for  Helen  Wood  at 
the  Island.  Well,  it  would  be  a  long  time  before 
that  letter  reached  its  addressee! 

Examination  of  the  blanketed  ground  con- 
firmed his  reasoning.  There  were  the  small, 
clear-set  footprints,  infinitely  pathetic  in  the 
black  wildness  of  the  night.  As  he  well  knew 
from  experience,  catching  up  with  Darcy  Cole 
when  she  was  set  on  getting  somewhere  was  a 
job  for  the  undivided  attention  of  the  briskest 
pedestrian.  He  set  out  along  the  road  at  a  dog- 
trot. 

His  first  stop  was  for  the  purpose  of  commit- 
ting a  felony,  punishable  by  several  years  in  the 
Federal  penitentiary.  It  took  him  about  a  sec- 
ond to  complete  the  crime,  and,  as  he  left  the 
rifled  mail-box  behind,  his  inside  pocket  quite 
bulged  with  the  fat  letter  wherein  Darcy  had 
set  forth  her  circumstantial  but  by  no  means 
225 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

complete  confession  which  was  to  exculpate  her 
partner  and  inculpate  herself.  Remsen's  heart 
beat  a  little  faster  under  that  bulky  epistle  with 
its  contents  of  courage  and  self-sacrifice. 

At  the  door  of  a  late-autumnal  cottage  he 
borrowed  a  flash.  With  this  he  could  plainly 
discern  the  trail  of  the  little  feet,  blurred  but 
not  obliterated  by  the  snowfall.  His  watch  in- 
dicated a  quarter  after  nine.  He  jogged  on  with 
high  hopes. 

On  a  long,  straight,  level  stretch  he  let  him- 
self out  for  a  burst  of  speed.  Perhaps,  from  the 
summit  of  the  hill  in  which  it  terminated,  he 
might  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  for  the  moon  was 
now  trying  its  best  to  send  a  struggling  ray 
through  the  flying  wrack  of  cloud.  Tenderly  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  vision  of  her;  head  up 
to  the  storm,  the  strong,  lithe  shoulders  squared, 
skimming  with  that  easy,  effortless  pace  of  hers 
that  had  in  it  all  the  grace  of  perfectly  controlled 
vigor. 

Halfway  across  the  open  space  he  slackened 
up  to  cast  the  light  of  the  flash  on  the  road. 

No  footmarks  were  visible. 

Remsen  cried  out,  with  the  shock  of  his  dis- 
may. He  cast  about  him  on  all  sides.  No  result. 

226 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Struggling  to  keep  cool,  he  turned  back,  going 
slowly,  careful  to  miss  no  trace  which  intent  scru- 
tiny might  discover.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  back  he 
picked  up  the  trail  where  she  had  left  the  road 
to  cross  a  brooklet  and  take  to  the  open  fields. 
Her  object  he  guessed;  to  cut  across  a  broad  and 
heavily  wooded  hill,  thus  saving  herself  some 
two  miles  of  travel  where  the  road  took  a  wide 
double  curve. 

Eased  in  his  breathing  by  the  enforced  slow- 
ness of  the  search,  he  was  now  able  to  accelerate 
his  pace.  Halfway  up  the  open  hillside  a  sudden 
fury  of  storm  descended,  lapping  him  in  whirl- 
ing darkness.  Ahead  of  him  stretched  the  dead- 
black  line  of  woodland.  More  by  luck  than 
direction,  he  came  upon  a  gateway,  and  thus 
set  foot  to  the  forest  path,  less  difficult  to  dis- 
cern in  such  conditions  than  the  open  trail  of  the 
meadows.  With  his  light  he  could  follow  it 
quite  easily.  But  when  he  thought  of  Darcy, 
lightless  and  inexperienced  in  woodcraft,  with 
only  her  strength  and  her  courage  to  help  her, 
wandering  in  that  wilderness,  his  spirit  sickened 
with  terror.  The  numbed  fingers  of  the  hand 
which  gripped  the  flash  warned  him  of  dropping 
temperature.  One  might  easily  freeze  on  such  a 
227 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

night,  in  the  open.  Worst  of  all,  the  marks  in 
the  snow  were  now  all  but  invisible  under  the 
fresh  fall. 

He  blundered  desperately  onward,  shouting 
her  name  into  the  gale  as  he  went.  There  was  an 
answering  call.  He  threw  his  light  on.  She  rose 
from  a  fallen  tree-trunk  into  the  arc  of  radiance. 

"I've  been  lost,"  she  said,  and  walked 
straight  to  his  arms. 

Just  for  the  comfort  and  safety  and  relief  of 
it  she  clung  to  him,  with  no  other  or  further 
thought  than  that  where  he  was  no  harm  could 
reach  her.  But  now  that  she  was  found,  Rem- 
sen's  self-control  broke  under  the  reaction.  His 
arms  closed  about  her.  With  a  shock  of  sweet- 
ness, amazement,  and  terror  she  felt  his  lips  on 
hers  —  and  answered  them.  For  the  briefest 
instant  only.  The  thought  of  Gloria  pierced 
through  the  rapture  of  the  moment,  a  poisoned 
dart.  She  thrust  herself  back  from  him,  her 
hands  on  his  breast. 

"Go  away!"  she  sobbed.  "You've  no  right. 
You  know  you've  no  right!" 

As  she  had  thought  of  Gloria,  so  now  he 
thought  of  the  Briton  oversea,  fighting  in  his 
country's  service. 

228 


"I'VE  BEEN  LOST,"  SHE  SAID.  AND  WALKED  STRAIGHT  TO  HIS  ARMS 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  know,"  he  groaned.  "Forgive  me." 

She  stood  back  from  him,  staring  with  be- 
wildered, dismayed  eyes. 

"I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  I'm  only  a 
counterfeit,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  forgot  —  many  things,"  said  she 
slowly. 

"Forgive  me,  Darcy,"  he  said  again.  "It  — 
it  swept  me  off  my  feet  —  the  sweetness  of  it. 
It  was  base  —  dishonorable  —  anything  you 
want  to  call  it;  but  when  I  felt  you  in  my 
arms — " 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  wailed. 

"Will  it  make  it  better  or  worse  if  I  tell  you 
that  I  love  you  as  I  never  loved  or  thought  I 
could  love  any  woman  ? " 

"Worse !  Worse !  Infinitely  worse ! " 

"This  is  the  end  of  me,"  he  said.  He  spoke 
quietly  and  in  a  flat,  even  tone  as  a  man  might 
speak  who  knew  that  he  was  giving  up  every- 
thing in  life  worth  having.  "  I  '11  not  offend  again. 
But  —  after  I  'd  kissed  you  —  you  had  to  know. 
I  could  n't  let  you  think  it  anything  less  than  it 
was,  the  going  out  to  you  of  a  heart  that  I  could 
no  longer  control." 

"In  dishonor!" 

229 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"If  you  will  have  it  so.  The  dishonor  is  mine. 
You  are  untouched  by  it.  ...  Now,  let  us  get 
to  other  matters.  Are  you  hurt?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  can  follow  me  back?"  he  said. 

"Where?" 

"To  the  Farmhouse." 

"I'll  never  go  back  to  the  Farmhouse." 

"You  must.  I  'm  going  away  on  this  train." 

"What  good  would  that  do?  Haven't  you 
read  my  note  to  you  ? " 

"Of  course.  Otherwise  I  should  n't  have  got 
on  your  trail." 

"Then  you  must  know  that  I've  written  the 
whole  thing  to  Helen  Wood,  and  even  if  I 
wanted  to  go  back,  now  —  " 

"Dismiss  that  letter  from  your  mind.  I  got 
it,  on  my  way  here." 

"  You  took  my  letter  to  Helen?  Did  you  read 
it?" 

"Do  you  think  me  dishonorable  in  every- 
thing?" he  returned  quietly. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  cried  the  girl  impetuously. 
"I  don't  think  you  dishonorable.  I  know  you're 
not.  I  don't  know  what  to  think  or  do." 

"Take  this  light  and  hurry  back  to  the 
230 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Farmhouse.  I've  still  got  time  for  the  train. 
Or  I  '11  take  you  back  and  make  the  morning 
train." 

"One  thing  I  cannot  and  will  not  do:  spend 
another  night  at  the  Farm." 

"  Is  that  your  last  word  ? " 

"Yes."  Obstinacy  itself  was  in  the  monosyl- 
lable. 

"Then  I  '11  go  with  you  to  Meredith." 

"I  won't  let  you." 

"I'll  go,"  he  retorted  in  a  tone  which  ended 
that  discussion. 

Under  his  guidance  and  in  silence  they  re- 
gained the  main  road.  At  Center  Harbor  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  team  to  take  them  the  rest 
of  the  way.  Not  until  the  end  of  the  journey  did 
Darcy  speak  to  him.  . 

"What  shall  you  do  now?" 

"I  don't  know.  Go  somewhere,"  said  he 
gloomily. 

"You  must  go  back." 

"Boulder  Brook  —  without  you?"  he  said 
passionately. 

"But  where  else  can  you  go?" 

"It  does  n't  matter." 

They  stood  in  silence  until  her  train  pulled  in. 
231 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  shan't  see  you  again,  shall  I?"  he  said 
wretchedly. 

"You've  made  it  impossible.  Oh,  why  did 
you  do  it? "  she  wailed  softly. 

With  no  further  word  she  turned  from  him 
and  went  into  the  car.  Remsen  stood,  dazed 
with  misery.  Forward,  something  was  shunted 
from  an  express  car  with  a  heavy  crash.  There 
was  a  babel  of  voices,  a  moment's  delay.  Darcy 
flashed  out  upon  the  steps  again,  her  eyes  starry. 
Remsen  jumped  to  meet  her.  She  caught  his 
hands  in  hers  with  a  swift,  forgiving  little 
pressure. 

"I  could  n't  leave  you  so,"  she  said  tremu- 
lously. "You  Ve  been  too  good  to  me.  Good-bye, 
and  —  forget." 

Before  he  could  answer  she  was  gone  again. 

Until  the  tail-light  of  the  train  glimmered 
into  obscurity  around  the  curve,  Remsen  stood 
uncovered  in  the  gale.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
miles  of  lonely  road. 


Chapter  XVIII 

DARCY,  in  her  berth,  sat  huddled  up  and 
wide-eyed.  She  knew  at  last  what  had 
happened  to  her.  The  burning  memory  of  that 
kiss  in  the  woods  had  left  nothing  unrevealed 
to  a  soul  as  frank  with  itself  as  Darcy's  had 
grown  to  be.  She  knew,  too,  what  she  had  to 
face.  There  was  no  doubt  or  hesitancy  in  her 
thoughts,  no  weak  attempt  to  justify  herself 
or  find  an  easy  way  out.  If  it  had  been  any  one 
but  Gloria  Greene  whose  happiness  was  at  stake, 
Gloria  who  had  picked  her  up  from  the  scrap- 
heap  of  waste  and  made  a  living,  pulsating, 
eager  human  creature  of  her,  Darcy  might  have 
fought  for  her  own  hand.  But  how  could  a  man 
who  had  loved  Gloria  Greene,  and  whom  Glo- 
ria loved,  care  seriously  for  any  other  woman 
on  earth?  No;  this  was  only  a  sudden,  unreck- 
onable  infatuation  on  Jack  Remsen's  part. . . . 
Then  she  recalled  the  look  in  his  eyes  when  they 
parted,  and  knew  that  her  conscience  was  lying 
to  her  heart.  In  any  case,  her  course  was  clear. 
She  must  be  game. 

233 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

In  her  deep  trouble  her  thoughts  turned  to 
Gloria,  the  wise,  kind  counsellor,  the  safe  refuge. 
But  she  would  not  do  for  this  crisis !  To  betray 
Remsen  to  her  —  that  was  unthinkable,  and 
nothing  short  of  the  whole  truth  would  serve 
with  Gloria.  Darcy  knew  that  she  must  fight  it 
out  alone.  Never,  not  even  in  the  old,  dead 
days,  had  she  felt  so  alone. 

Human  nature  being  what  it  is,  there  is  noth- 
ing strange  in  the  fact  that,  on  her  return  to 
New  York,  Darcy  shrank  from  meeting  Gloria. 
Although  the  girl's  conscience  absolved  her, 
except  for  that  one,  instinctive  lapse  when  she 
had  been  caught  off  her  guard,  her  sore  heart 
pleaded  guilty  to  the  self-brought  charge  of  a 
lasting  disloyalty.  With  the  thrill  of  Jack  Rem- 
sen's  kiss  still  in  her  veins,  how  could  she  face 
the  woman  to  whom  Remsen  owed  his  alle- 
giance, the  woman  who,  moreover,  had  been 
the  kindest,  most  effectual,  most  unselfish  friend 
of  her  own  unbefriended  life? 

Yet  there  remained  to  be  concluded  the  ob- 
sequies of  Sir  Montrose  Veyze,  of  Veyze  Hold- 
ings, Hampshire,  England.  Those  remains,  of 
unblessed  memory,  must  positively  be  removed 
from  the  premises  before  they  gave  rise  to  fur- 

234 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ther  and  even  more  painful  complications.  Darcy 
experienced  the  grisly  emotions  of  a  murderer 
with  an  all-too-obvious  corpse  to  dispose  of. 
First  of  all,  Gloria's  absolution  from  the  prom- 
ise of  secrecy  must  be  obtained,  which  she 
would  doubtless  be  more  than  ready  to  accord, 
now  that  Sir  Montrose  had  become  too  heavy 
a  burden  to  carry;  also  Gloria's  advice  and  aid 
if  she  would  give  it.  Nerving  herself  for  the  en- 
counter, Darcy  went  to  see  the  actress  and  told 
her  the  whole  (if  she  herself  was  to  be  believed) 
disastrous  tale. 

Gloria  was  too  shrewd  to  believe  quite  that 
far.  There  were  obvious  hesitancies,  blank 
spaces,  and  reservations  wherever  the  name 
and  deeds  of  Mr.  Jacob  Remsen,  alias  Sir  Mont- 
rose  Veyze  II,  or  in  his  own  proper  person,  en- 
tered into  the  narrative.  And  there  was  a  some- 
thing in  the  girl's  eyes,  deep  down  where  the 
warm  gray  was  lighted  to  warmer  blue,  which 
had  n't  been  there  before.  It  completed  the 
woman  in  her.  With  an  inner  flush  of  creative 
pride  Gloria  communed  with  herself  upon  the 
new  miracle: 

"This  is  a  wonderful  and  lovable  thing  that 
I  have  made."  Instinctive  honesty  compelled 

235 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

her,  however,  to  add :  "  But  somebody  else 
has  given  the  finishing  touch." 

She  was  too  keen  an  observer  not  to  suspect 
who  her  fellow  creative  artist  was.  Being  of  the 
ultra-blessed  who  hold  their  tongues  until  it  is 
time  to  speak,  Gloria  made  no  comment  upon 
this  phase,  but  set  her  mind  singly  to  the  prob- 
lem in  hand  as  presented  by  Darcy's  recital. 

"It's  time  to  own  up,"  was  her  decision. 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  the  girl.  "I  don't  look 
forward  to  telling  Maud." 

"Let  me  handle  Maud." 

"Would  you,  Gloria?  You  are  good.  However 
well  you  do  it,  though,"  she  added  resentfully, "  I 
suppose  I  '11  be  '  Poor  Darcy '  again  without  even 
the  compensation  of  being  'Such  a  nice  girl.": 

"Do  you  feel  like  'Poor  Darcy'?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  look  like  'Poor  Darcy'?" 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  long  studio  mirror 
back  of  her.  "No,  I  don't,"  she  replied,  and  two 
dimples  came  forward  and  offered  corrobora- 
tive testimony. 

"Then  whom  is  the  joke  on?" 

The  dimples  vanished.  "On  me,"  said  their 
erstwhile  proprietor. 

236 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Don't  be  an  imbecile!"  adjured  her  mentor. 

"Can't  help  it,"  returned  Darcy  dolefully. 
"I've  got  the  habit." 

"Break  it.  Hark  to  the  voice  of  Pure  Reason 
(that's  me).  As  long  as  you  were  'Poor  Darcy,' 
you  had  to  invent  a  fiance  or  go  without,  did  n't 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  your  invention  was  sure  to  be  a  regular 
old  Frankenstein  monster,  and  to  come  back 
and  devour  you  as  soon  as  you  were  found  out." 

"I  can  hear  the  clanking  of  his  joints  this 
minute!" 

"You  can't.  He  is  n't  there.  If  you  were  still 
'Poor  Darcy,'  there 'd  be  no  hope  for  you. 
You  're  not.  You  're  something  totally  different." 

"That's  your  view  of  it,"  returned  the  dispir- 
ited Darcy.  "But  to  other — " 

"It's  anybody's  view  that  is  n't  blind  as  a 
bat!  Half  the  men  you  meet  are  crazy  about 
you.  Are  n't  they?" 

"I  haven't  met  many,  lately,"  said  Darcy 
demurely. 

"You  met  plenty  at  our  party.  Even  Maud 
and  Helen  saw  the  effect.  Their  eyes  bunged 
out!" 

237 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"I  don't  see  how  their  eyes  bunging  out  is 
going  to  help  explain  Sir  Montrose  Veyze  I,  let 
alone  Sir  Montrose  Veyze  II." 

"Why  worry,  when  I'm  here  to  take  the 
burden  from  you?  I  propose,"  said  Miss  Greene 
relishingly,  "to  tell  those  girls  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

"Gloria!  They'll  pass  it  on  and  I'll  be  the 
laughing-stock  — " 

"Will  they!  I  dare  'em  to  pass  it  on! " 

"Why  should  n't  they?"  cried  the  girl.  "It's 
just  the  sort  of  thing  that  Maud  would  revel 


in." 


"Allowing  that  she  could  get  away  with  it, 
you're  right.  She  could  n't." 

"Couldn't  make  people  believe  it,  you 
mean?" 

"Never.  Never  in  the  world!" 

"But  it's  truf!" 

"Dear  and  lovely  innocence!  Do  you  think 
that  helps  it  to  get  itself  believed  ?  Besides,  the 
main  part  of  it  is  n't  true." 

"I  mean  it's  true  that  it  is  n't  true,  and  if 
Maud  tells  the  truth  about  what  is  n't  true — " 

"Come  out  of  that  skein  of  metaphysical 
wool,  kitten,"  laughed  Gloria. "  You're  tangled. 

238 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Here's  what  isn't  true;  that  you're  'Poor 
Darcy'  who  has  to  get  lovers  out  of  books  for 
lack  of  'em  in  real  life." 

"But  I  have  been." 

"All  right.  Let  Maud  tell  the  people  that 
used  to  know  you,  and  make  them  believe  it. 
There's  only  a  few  of  them  and  they  don't 
count.  As  for  trying  it  on  anyone  else,  all  she'll 
get  will  be  a  reputation  for  green-eyed  jealousy. 
How  would  anybody  convince  Jack  Remsen, 
for  instance"  (Darcy  winced,  and  Gloria's 
quick  sense  caught  it),  "that  you  had  to  invent 
an  imaginary  adorer  because  you  could  n't  get 
a  real  one?  No,  indeed!  The  evidence  is  all 
against  it  from  Exhibit  A,  Darcy' s  eyes,  down 
to  Exhibit  Z,  Darcy's  smart  little  boots.  For  an 
unattractive  girl,  your  little  effort  of  the  im- 
agination would  be  a  pathetic,  desperate,  ridic- 
ulous invention,  with  the  laugh  on  the  inven- 
tor. For  an  attractive  girl,  it's  just  a  festive 
little  joke.  Don't  you  see  how  it  works  out? 
The  pretty  girl  (that's  you)  can  have  all  the 
adorers  she  wants,  but  she  prefers  to  take  in 
her  friends  by  inventing  one.  Is  the  joke  on  the 
girl  or  her  friends  ?  One  guess.  Why,  oh,  why," 
concluded  Gloria  addressing  the  Scheme  of  the 

239 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

World  in  a  burst  of  self-admiration,  "was  n't 
I  born  a  professor  of  logic  instead  of  an  actress  ? " 

"It  sounds  reasonable,"  confessed  Darcy. 
"But  will  Maud  and  Helen  be  clever  enough 
to  see  it?" 

"Probably  not." 

"Then—" 

"Therefore  I  shall  point  it  out  to  them  in 
my  inimitable  and  convincing  style,  with  spe- 
cial hints  as  to  the  perils  and  disadvantages  of 
getting  a  reputation  for  jealousy  of  a  better- 
looking  girl ! " 

"Then  that's  all  settled,"  said  Darcy  with 
a  sigh.  "Now  what  about  Sir  Montrose?  The 
real  Sir  Montrose,  I  mean." 

"Well,  what  about  him?" 

"  Suppose  he  should  come  over  here  and  hear 
about  it?" 

"He  won't.  He's  engaged  to  an  English  girl. 
I've  just  heard." 

"How  nice  and  considerate  of  him!  You 
know,  Gloria,  I  could  almost  love  that  man." 

"Could  you?  What  about  the  bogus  Sir 
Montrose?"  asked  the  actress  significantly. 

Darcy  flushed  faintly.  "Well,  what  about 
him?"  she  echoed. 

240 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"How  much  does  he  know?" 

"Not  very  much.  Do  you  think  I  ought  to 
tell  him?" 

"Does  the  child  expect  me  to  manage  her 
conscience  as  well  as  her  affairs!"  cried  the 
actress.  "If  any  one  is  to  tell  him,  you're  the 


one." 


"I  suppose  so,"  assented  Darcy,  spiritlessly, 
and  made  her  farewells  in  no  more  cheerful 
frame  of  mind  than  when  she  had  come,  albeit 
one  load  was  off  her  shoulders. 

For  a  week  or  more  Gloria  neither  saw  nor 
heard  from  the  girl.  At  the  end  of  that  time  she 
did,  to  her  surprise,  encounter  the  erstwhile 
bogus  Sir  Montrose  without  his  hirsute  adorn- 
ments and  in  his  proper  person  of  Mr.  Jacob 
Remsen,  sauntering  idly  along  the  Park.  Hail- 
ing him,  she  took  him  into  her  taxi.  Mr.  Remsen 
was  not  looking  his  customary  sunny  self. 

"Did  the  law's  minions  catch  you  in  spite  of 
your  whiskers  ?"  she  asked. 

"No.  Case  was  compromised.  So  I  Ve  come 
back." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"I'm  going  to  work." 

"Work!  You?"  said  the  actress  with  un- 

241 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

feigned  and  unflattering  surprise.  "Why? 
What's  the  answer?" 

"Ambition,"  replied  Mr.  Remsen  in  a  lifeless 
voice. 

"Sounds  more  like  penal  servitude,"  com- 
mented Gloria.  "And  what  is  to  be  the  scene 
of  your  violent  endeavors?" 

"Ask  the  Government,"  he  replied  wearily. 
"Washington,  maybe.  Or  perhaps  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Savannah.  Or  right  here  in  New  York, 
for  all  I  know." 

"Jerusalem  and  Madagascar 
And  North  and  South  Amerikee," 

quoted  the  other.  "Are  you  about  to  become  an 
American  courier  for  the  peripatetic  Mr.  Cook, 
his  agency?" 

"Got  a  chance  to  go  into  the  Treasury  De- 
partment," answered  Remsen  gloomily. 

"Don't  give  up  heart,"  she  encouraged  him. 
"Strong  young  men  like  you  often  survive  the 
rigors  of  that  life.  Pity  they  don't  send  you  to 
London,  where  your  monocle  and  your  accent 
would  be  appreciated.  By  the  way,  have  you 
seen  your  quondam  fiancee  since  your  return?" 

"No,"  said  Remsen. 

242 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Gloria,  noting  that  he  winced  much  as  Darcy 
had  winced,  wondered,  and  turned  the  talk  to 
other  topics  which  gave  her  opportunity  to 
revolve  the  problem  of  the  two  masqueraders 
in  her  mind.  That  there  was  a  problem  she  was 
now  well  assured.  She  took  it  to  luncheon  with 
her,  after  dropping  one  of  the  subjects  of  it, 
and  came  to  a  conclusion  characteristic  of  her 
philosophy  and  worthy  of  a  mathematician; 
namely,  that  the  figures  in  any  problem  work 
out  their  own  solution  if  properly  arranged. 
She  decided  to  do  the  arranging  after  luncheon 
by  telephone. 

She  sent  word  to  Darcy  to  meet  her  at  the 
studio  without  fail  at  five.  Then  she  got  Rem- 
sen  at  his  club  and  told  him  that  a  matter  of 
importance  had  come  up  about  which  she 
wanted  to  see  him  at  her  place  about  five- 
fifteen.  Whether  she  herself  could  get  through 
her  engagements  and  be  back  home  at  that 
hour  she  did  not  know  nor  particularly  care. 
Her  duties  as  hostess  did  not  weigh  heavily 
upon  her  in  this  respect.  Let  Jack  or  Darcy  or 
both  reach  the  v  place  before  her;  it  didn't 
greatly  matter.  Perhaps  it  would  even  be  better 
that  way. 

243 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

Furthermore,  Gloria  Greene  was  very  deeply 
and  happily  preoccupied  with  certain  affairs  of 
her  most  intimate  own,  which  will  serve  to 
explain  a  slight  vagueness  in  her  usually  accu- 
rate schedules,  with  consequences  quite  un- 
foreseen by  her  managerial  self.  For  one  of  Miss 
Greene's  errands  that  day  had  been  to  send  a 
vitally  important  telegram  which  called  for  an 
answer  in  person  on  the  following  day.  That  the 
answer  in  person  might  arrive  that  same  day 
she  had  not  reckoned.  She  had  consulted  only 
railway  time-tables,  forgetting  that  far-and- 
swift-flying  chariot  of  Cupid,  the  high-powered 
automobile. 


Chapter  XIX 

ALL  things  threaten  a  guilty  conscience. 
Haunted  by  the  unlaid  ghost  of  Sir 
Montrose  Veyze,  Darcy,  on  receipt  of  Gloria's 
message,  fearfully  anticipated  that  some  new 
complication  had  arisen.  Having  concluded  a 
satisfactory  interview  with  B.  Riegel  &  Sons 
(whose  representative  was  impressed  anew 
with  her  splendor)  she  reached  Gloria's  studio 
a  little  before  the  appointed  time.  The  place 
was  empty.  For  a  few  moments  she  idled  about, 
examining  the  new  pictures,  glancing  casually 
at  books,  and  presently  drifted  to  the  piano 
seat. 

Insensibly  guided  by  memories,  her  fingers 
wandered  into  the  little,  soothing  cradle-song 
which  she  had  first  heard  in  that  very  spot 
from  Jack  Remsen's  lips.  Long  ago,  it  seemed; 
so  long  ago!  Once  she  played  it  through,  and 
then  in  her  tender  and  liquid  voice  she  crooned 
it  softly. 

She  did  not  hear  the  door  open  and  close. 
But  she  felt  a  light  draught  of  air,  and  the 
next  instant  a  man's  figure  loomed  through  the 

245 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

gathering  dusk,  a  man's  strong  hands  fell  on 
her  shoulders,  and  a  man's  glad  voice  cried: 

"Dearest!" 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Darcy  in  consternation. 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  the  newcomer  in 
an  altered  and  horrified  tone. 

Darcy  turned  to  confront  Thomas  Harmon. 
She  had  seen  him  but  once,  but  she  carried  the 
clearest  memory  of  his  quiet  eyes,  his  vital  per- 
sonality, his  big,  light-moving,  active  frame, 
and  his  persuasively  friendly  manner.  Mr. 
Harmon  was  a  person  not  easy  to  forget.  Now 
he  was  covered  with  confusion. 

"I  —  I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stam- 
mered. "It  was  inexcusably  stupid  of  me." 

Darcy  held  out  her  hand,  smiling.  "I'm 
Darcy  Cole,  Mr.  Harmon,"  she  said.  "And  I 
have  a  great  deal  to  thank  you  for." 

"Me?"  said  the  big  man  in  surprise.  "I'd  be 
glad  to  think  so,  but — " 

"But  you  don't  know  why,"  she  concluded, 
kindly  intent  on  putting  him  at  his  ease. 
(Darcy,  who  a  year  before  would  have  been  on 
live  coals  of  embarrassment  before  any  strange 
man!)  "You  gave  me  a  refuge  at  Boulder 
Brook  when  I  very  much  needed  one." 

246 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Oh!  So  you're  Gloria's  —  Miss  Greene's 
little  friend.  I  hope  they  made  you  comfort- 
able." 

"Did  n't  you  get  a  note  from  me  telling  you 
how  delightful  your  place  is?" 

"No.  But,  you  see,  I've  been  away.  Just  got 
in." 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  mo- 
ment, the  girl  demure  but  dimpling,  the  man 
still  in  some  confusion  of  spirit.  Then,  encour- 
aged perhaps  by  the  dimples,  perhaps  by  some 
aura  of  fellowship  and  understanding  which 
exhaled  from  the  girl,  Harmon  burst  out  boy- 
ishly: 

"  I  Ve  heard  a  lot  about  you,  Miss  Darcy,  and 
I  believe  you're  a — 'Well,  a  good  fellow." 

"I  am,"  Darcy  assured  him  with  absolute 
conviction. 

"Well,  after  the  break  I  made  I  Ve  got  to  tell 
somebody  or  bust. " 

"Tell  me,"  invited  the  girl.  "Whom  did  you 
think  I  was  when  you  rushed  on  me?" 

"Gloria,  of  course!" 

"Gloria!" 

Although  untrained  in  fancy  gymnastics, 
Darcy's  brain  whirled  around  ten  times  in  one 
247 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

direction,  clicked,  and  whirled  around  ten  times 
on  the  reverse.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  head 
dizzily,  striving  to  readjust  her  thoughts. 

"  Is  n't  it  very  sudden  ? "  she  faltered. 

"About  as  sudden  as  Jacob's  little  affair  with 
Rachel,"  laughed  Harmon.  "It's  been  a  seven- 
year  siege  on  my  part." 

"But,  Gloria— " 

"Oh,  it's  been  a  heap  suddener  for  Gloria.  In 
fact  she  only  —  I  only  got  the  word  to-day.  And 
here  I  am."  He  examined  the  girl's  troubled 
face.  "You  don't  look  exactly  pleased,"  he 
added,  crestfallen. 

"Indeed,  you  mustn't  think  that,"  she  cried 
earnestly.  "But  I  —  I  —  I  thought  it  was  Mr. 
Remsen."  In  her  bewilderment  she  blundered 
on.  "  I  saw  her  k-k-k-"  Too  late  she  strove 
to  catch  herself  on  the  brink  of  a  shameful  be- 
trayal. 

"You  saw  her  kiss  Jack,"  he  interpreted, 
smiling.  "He's  a  sort  of  a  third  cousin  or  some- 
thing, and  a  privileged  character,  anyway." 

"I  didn't  know,"  answered  the  girl.  Then, 
recovering  herself:  "Oh,  Mr.  Harmon,  I  am  so 
glad.  I  believe  you  're  just  as  fine  as  Gloria  is  — 
and  that's  the  most  any  one  could  say." 
248 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

"My  dear,"  he  said  more  gravely.  "Nobody 
on  earth  is  that.  But  —  well,  I  want  to  shout 
and  sing  and  —  Play  your  music  again,  won't 
you?  Maybe  that'll  help." 

Maybe,  thought  Darcy,  it  would  help  her, 
too;  for  she  also  wanted  to  shout  and  sing,  and, 
most  contradictorily,  to  hide  and  cry  — •  and 
wait. 

Forgetful,  in  the  turmoil  of  her  mind,  of  the 
pledge  to  Jack  Remsen  about  the  little  song 
which  was  to  be  their  one  keepsake  of  those  en- 
chanted days  in  the  mountains,  she  turned  back 
to  the  piano  and  hummed  the  melody. 

"It's  built  for  a  second  part,"  commented 
Harmon.  "Do  you  mind  if  I  try  it?" 

So  she  went  over  it  again,  and  he  struck  in, 
in  a  clear,  charming  barytone,  and  with  a  sin- 
gularly happy  inspiration  of  a  tenor  part.  Over 
and  over  it  they  went,  she  suggesting,  and  he 
perfecting  his  second ;  and  they  were  still  at  it 
when  the  door  opened  again,  upon  deaf  ears. 

In  the  hallway  Jack  Remsen  stopped  dead. 
The  first  thing  of  which  he  was  conscious  wag 
that  the  voice  of  the  girl  he  loved  and  had 
continued  to  love  against  every  dictate  of  con- 
science and  honor  was  running  like  sweet  fire 
249 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

through  his  veins  again.  Instantly  the  fire  be- 
came bitter  and  scorching.  For  there  was 
another  voice,  accompanying  and  fulfilling  hers, 
the  barytone  which  she  had  adduced  as  one  of 
her  British  lover's  chief  charms. 

(Remsen  had  to  admit  the  quality  of  the 
voice,  now  raised  in  his  song.  The  song  which 
she  had  promised  to  keep  as  his  and  hers;  the 
one  thing  which  he  might  claim  of  her!) 

A  hot  anger  rose  in  his  heart  and  as  quickly 
faded.  Why  should  n't  she  sing  that  song  with 
her  lover?  At  most  it  was  an  idle  promise  which 
he  had  had  no  right  to  exact.  He  conquered  an 
impulse  to  turn  and  leave.  No;  the  thing  had  to 
be  faced.  Might  as  well  face  it  now.  When  the 
chords  died  down  he  advanced  to  the  door  and 
spoke. 

Darcy  whirled  on  her  seat,  and  rose,  very 
white.  His  one  glance  told  Remsen  that  she  was 
lovelier  than  ever.  Then  everything  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  amazement  of  finding  Harmon 
there.  Harmon  —  alone  in  the  dusk  with  Darcy 
where  he  had  expected  to  find  the  fiance  —  his 
song  —  and  that  charming,  clear  barytone  of 
which  Darcy  had  boasted  in  Sir  Montrose! 

An  explanation  came  to  his  mind,  light  in  the 
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Wanted:  A  Husband 

darkness.  It  was  just  another  masquerade  - 
Darcy  apparently  specialized  in  them  —  and 
Veyze  had  been  but  a  blind  for  Harmon,  the  real 
lover  in  the  background,  all  the  time.  He  felt 
Harmon  wringing  his  hand  in  welcome  and 
heard  himself  saying  with  a  creditable  affect  of 
heartiness : 

"Then  I  suppose  it's  you  that  I'm  to  con- 
gratulate." 

"It  is,"  returned  the  other,  chuckling  joy- 
ously. "Though  how  on  earth  you  knew  it  I 
can't  conceive." 

"Is  n't  it  evident  enough?"  said  Jack. 

He  marched  over  to  Darcy.  She  saw  him 
changed,  thinned,  with  lines  in  his  smooth 
face;  lines  of  though tfulness,  of  self-control,  of 
achieved  manhood,  and  her  heart  was  in  her 
eyes  as  they  met  his  and  drooped. 

"And  you,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you  every  hap- 
piness. I  could  n't  wish  you  better  than  Tom 
Harmon." 

"What!"  cried  that  complimented  but 
astounded  gentleman.  "Me?  Miss  Darcy?" 

"Well,  if  it  is  n't  you,"  said  Jack  lifelessly, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other:  "will  you  kindly 
tell—" 

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Wanted:  A  Husband 

"  It  is  me,  but  it  is  n't  her,"  broke  in  Har- 
mon, with  the  superb  disregard  of  grammar  suit- 
able to  the  occasion.  "Man  alive,  it's  Gloria!  " 

As  if  in  confirmation,  Gloria's  voice  came  to 
them,  down  the  hallway. 

"Darcy!  Where  are  you,  child?" 

Two  chairs  which  foolishly  attempted  to  im- 
pede Mr.  Thomas  Harmon's  abrupt  and  ath- 
letic progress  across  the  floor  were  sent  to  the 
janitor  next  day. 

"Tom!"  cried  Gloria's  voice  in  a  breathless 
and  different  tone.  Then  the  door  slammed. 

Jack  Remsen  turned  to  Darcy.  "So  that's  it, 
is  it?"  he  said  slowly. 

"That,"  answered  Darcy,  "is  it.  Isn't  it 
splendid!" 

"Couldn't  be  splendider — for  those  most 
concerned.  What  about  the  rest  of  it?" 

"The  rest  of  it?"  Her  brows  were  raised  in 
dainty  puzzlement,  but  her  eyes  refused  to 
meet  his. 

"Where  is  Veyze?" 

"On  his  way  back  to  the  East,  I  understand," 
said  Darcy  carefully. 

"When  is  he  coming  over?" 

"Not  at  all." 

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Wanted:  A  Husband 

"Are  you  going  over  there  — to  England?" 

"No." 

"You're  not  looking  me  in  the  face." 

"I  —  I  don't  want  to  look  you  in  the  face. 
You  're  not  pretty  when  you  make  a  —  a  cate- 
chism of  yourself." 

"Darcy,"  said  Remsen,  "there's  been  some- 
thing queer  about  this  Veyze  business  from  the 
start.  As  long  as  I  could  help  I  did,  did  n't  I?" 
:Yes,"  said  the  girl  quite  low. 

'And  I  asked  no  questions?" 

£No,"  she  said,  even  lower. 

'But  now  I've  got  to  know.  I've  got  a  right 
to  know." 

"Why?"  It  was  the  merest  whisper. 

"Because  I've  come  back  loving  you  more 
than  when  you  left  me.  I  would  n't  have  be- 
lieved it  possible.  But  it's  so.  Every  hope  and 
wish  of  my  heart  is  bound  up  in  you.  Darcy, 
is  it  broken  off  between  you  and  Montrose 
Veyze?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  The  color  flushed 
and  trembled  adorably  in  her  face.  She  spoke, 
clear  and  sweet  as  music. 

"There  never  was  anything  between  me  and 
Sir  Montrose  Veyze." 

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Wanted:  A  Husband 

"You  mean,"  said  the  astounded  Remsen, 
"that  you  were  only  acquaintances?" 

"If  Sir  Montrose  walked  into  the  room  this 
minute  I  should  n't  know  him." 

"But,  how— " 

"I  made  it  up.  All.  Every  bit  of  it."  She  put 
her  hands  together  in  a  posture  of  half-mocking 
plea.  "Please,  sir,  do  I  have  to  tell  you  the 
whole  shameful  story?" 

He  caught  the  hands  between  his.  "There's 
only  one  thing  you  have  to  tell  me,  Darcy.  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  it  is?" 

There  was  no  need.  The  hands  stole  to  his 
shoulders,  and  then  around  his  neck.  "Oh,  I  do! 
I  do!"  she  breathed.  "There  never  was  any 
Veyze,  or  any  engagement,  or  anything  or  any- 
body —  but  —  just  —  you." 

"But,  Darcy,  love,"  he  demanded,  holding 
her  close,  "why  would  n't  you  give  me  a  chance, 
when  we  were  at  Boulder  Brook?" 

"I — I  —  I  thought  it  was  G-g-g-gloria 
with  you,  all  the  time." 

"You  did  n't!  How  could  you  miss  seeing 
that  I  was  mad  about  you  from  the  first?  Why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  what  you  thought?" 

With  her  cheek  against  his  and  her  lips  at  his 

254 


Wanted:  A  Husband 

ear,  she  confessed,  between  soft,  quick  catchings 
of  the  breath : 

"Because  I  was  afraid  —  of  letting  you  see 
how  much  I  cared.  I  —  I  Ve  been  such  a 
little  fool,  Jack,  dear.  And  —  and  about  the 
Veyze  thing  —  I  'm  a  cheat  —  and  an  awful  lit- 
tle liar  —  and  — •  and  —  and  —  and  a  forger,  I 
guess.  But  it  never  hurt  anybody  but  myself  — 
and  I  Ve  been  loving  you  all  the  time  —  until 
my  heart  —  almost  broke." 

"I'm  pretty  good  at  those  crimes  myself," 
returned  her  lover  comfortingly.  "And  worse. 
I've  robbed  a  mail-box.  When  did  you  ever 
descend  to  such  desperate  depths  as  that?" 

"I  tried  to  kill  my  trainer,"  retorted  Darcy 
proudly;  "and  he's  the  best  friend  I  ever  had 
except  Gloria.  He 's  the  one  that  made  me  pre- 
sentable." 

"I'll  ask  him  to  be  best  man,"  said  her  lover 
promptly.  "As  for  our  crimes,  I  '11  tell  you,  darl- 
ing of  my  heart;  let's  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and 
live  straight  and  happy  eve'"  after." 

"Let's,"  agreed  Darcy  \/ith  a  sigh  of  happi- 
ness. 

Half  an  hour  later  Tom  Harmon  and  Gloria 
outside  heard  music,  the  cradling  measures  of 

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Wanted:  A  Husband 

the  little  song,  and  crept  to  the  door  hand  in 
hand.  They  caught  the  mention  of  Boulder 
Brook  and  shamelessly  listened.  The  pair  within 
were  already  future-building  on  Tom  Harmon's 
property. 

"And  we'll  get  on  that  same  train  right  after 
the  wedding,"  said  Remsen. 

"And  get  off  at  Weirs,"  added  the  prospec- 
tive bride. 

"And  have  the  festive  native  there  to  meet  us 
with  'th'ole  boat.'" 

"And  take  that  awful,  bumpy  road  slower 
than  we  did  before." 

"And  go  straight  to  the  Farmhouse  — " 

"I'm  sorry,  children,"  the  rightful  owner  of 
the  coolly  appropriated  property  broke  in  upon 
their  dreams;  "but  you  can't  have  the  Farm- 
house." 

"Oh!"  said  Darcy,  hastily  moving  north-by- 
west  on  the  piano  seat. 

"That's  taken,"  explained  Harmon,  beaming 
upon  Gloria,  "for  another  couple." 

"Heaven  bless  'em!"  said  Jack  heartily. 

"Thank  you!  You,"  concluded  their  past  and 
future  host,  "  may  have  the  Bungalow." 


Chapter  XX 

SOMEWHERE  in  Siberia,  quite  unaware  of 
his  activities  as  an  absentee  Cupid,  Sir 
Montrose  Veyze,  of  Veyze  Holdings,  Hamp- 
shire, England,  with  a  spread  of  huge  composi- 
tion planes  where  his  dovelike  wings  should  have 
been,  and  a  quick-firer  at  his  side  in  place  of 
bow  and  quiver,  reached  out  of  his  aeroplane 
for  the  long-overdue  mail  and  read  with  lan- 
guid surprise  an  invitation  to  be  present  at  the 
marriage  of  Miss  Darcy  Cole  to  Mr.  Jacob 
Remsen,  in  New  York  City,  New  York,  on  the 
preceding  Christmas  day. 

"Now,  where  the  dayvle,"  puzzled  Sir  Mon- 
trose Veyze  as  he  rose  into  the  clouds  "did  I 
ever  know  those  people  ? " 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U.S.A. 


from  which  if  u...  u_.          .    ' 


A     000  038  357 


u 


